Fragile
by CainViolle
Summary: After an embarrassing defeat on Summoner's Rift, Draven challenges Ezreal to a one on one battle with a unique consequence for the loser. Eventual Darius/Ezreal, Draven/Ezreal. Rating will rise.
1. A Wager

_Before I even get into the serious author notes stuff, yes, Darius and Ezreal._

_Right well originally I posted this on the LoL NA forums but I've gotten a weirdly higher amount of attention from posting it just on so I guess I'll pay more attention to it over here.  
_

**_Seriously though, Darius and Ezreal?_**

_Let's put it this way, it started out as half a joke, and then a few friends told me to write it just for the fun of it, and now I have an entire story planned out with a plot and everything. I'm not going to promise rainbows and fluffies everywhere; in fact, the fluff and romance is most likely going to be sparse. You can't really write a Noxian as a flowers and chocolates type of guy, and I won't try to._

_So basically, I will do everything within my power as an author to advance the plot and romantic involvements and keep everybody in character. So, I'd love it if you all gave it a shot. I have to apologize in advance for the first chapter, which is very choppy, and full of intimidating-looking paragraphs. I'm not in my writing groove, and I'm really excited by writing a new story, so it's a bit disorganized and chaotic right now._

_Anyway, enough blabber, let's get down to business._  
_  
**Chapter One:** A Wager_  
_**Word Count:** 5,700 (roughly)_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Taric, Darius, Thresh (barely)_  
_**Pairings:** None_  
_**Warnings:** Mild violence_

* * *

The Glorious Executioner growled to himself, feeling a burst of energy burning against the skin of his arm. A summoner had chosen him for another match; only natural that they picked the best. It was a surefire win, if not for the obnoxious little whelp he had to go up against. Ezreal, the prodigal brat from Piltover. It wasn't as if the kid was better than him; of course not, nobody was better than Draven, especially not some dumb kid. But his snide comments, the arrogant laughter really tested his patience, which he had very little of to begin with.

He was getting frustrated by how the boy continued to talk tough and act like he was some amazing spectacle, no matter how hard he threw his axes at the little brat. It barely mattered, he could jump out of the way of his axes, and even when he did take a hit, his knight in sparkling armor would heal back whatever he'd lost, or startle him with his pretty gems so terribly that he couldn't move - it lasted for no more than two seconds, yet felt like an eternity, one wasted moment could completely throw the fight in the enemy's favor. He was getting frustrated, and a frustrated Draven was a sloppy Draven.

He threw his next axe with all the force he could muster, smiling as he heard a satisfying groan of pain. Admittedly, he took an unhealthy amount of pleasure from having an excuse to shed blood. Probably indicative of some psychological disturbance, but he couldn't be brought to care. There were more sadistic members of the League to be concerned about; Thresh, for instance, who he had ended up laning with. The dead warden lusted for blood and pain more than any of them; enough to make even the most cold-hearted Noxian a bit squeamish. He couldn't deny that it was a bit discomforting when he'd throw up his five-sided box, screaming that he owned all the unfortunate souls he'd trapped within it, even if they were fighting on the same team.

"What, is that all you got?" He glared at the little blonde brat as he dared mock his skill with a blade. Healed back to full health, of course. "How old are you anyway, forty?" The kid needed to be put in his place, but he couldn't do that so long as his sparkly man servant was still breathing. "You should probably reconsider your career choice, you're getting slow with that throwing arm." Draven hissed as the brat fired off another shot at him, one he barely managed to side step. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind, he turned towards The Chain Warden, who had returned from the shop with full health and some useful trinkets. The Noxian stepped back a little, not taking his eyes off the Piltovian brat.

"Took you long enough." Draven hissed at the spectral warden. "Listen, we need to take out Sparkles. He's not gonna let us lay a finger on Pretty Boy as long as he's around to stop it." He growled at his assistant, assigning their enemies with nicknames he found all too fitting. "Do you think you could hook him in and shield me while I run in for the kill, or slow him or something?" He wanted nothing more than to grab the little brat, taking him by a fistful of his pretty golden locks, and shove his face into the dirt. Show him what happened to anybody who dared to doubt his superiority over them, make him eat his words. He would have it, soon enough, he promised himself. He would teach the brat not to cross him again.

The two set their agreed plan into motion. The Warden waited for the signal, then took his chance to strike, engaging the gem-clad Knight first with a well-aimed hook. Draven smiled, closing in on the fight, tossing axe after axe, merciless as he hacked away at the Knight's life, tearing through his armor. He ignored the blonde brat's attempts to hurt him. Of course, the wounded tried to escape, clumsily using one of his gems to stun the Warden, healing himself quickly. He began running in the other direction, much to the Executioner's pleasure. He loved a running target. Mustering all his strength, he threw his axes with all the force he could, watching as they practically rolled across the battlefield like a pair of wheels. They chunked away at the last of the Knight's health; he collapsed on the ground. Draven smirked over at the Warden, who collected the man's soul within his lantern.

Ezreal paused for a moment at what had unfolded before him, suddenly he had lost his confidence. His moment of hesitation proved to be a mistake, he felt the Noxian's axes driving into him with terrifying force as they returned to the Executioner. His eyebrows lowered into a glare, he focused himself. His only hopes were to either fight with everything he had or run away and admit his defeat. He breathed in deeply, channeling all of his energy into a single attack, letting out a cry of strain as he pushed a wave of energy out, aimed directly at the Executioner. It passed through him, and the Warden who accompanied him. They were on even ground. He watched as a hook came flying his way, in a panick, he used his magic to get safely out of its reach. Draven laughed, shaking his head at the clumsy display.

"Nobody here to fix your mistakes for you now, girly." Draven smirked, tossing an axe at him, managing to hit him full-on, causing him to stumble to the side. He backed up, limping away, hoping to create some distance. They closed in on him, the Warden jumped in, throwing up dreadful walls around them. He made the mistake of attempting to pass through it; he might have narrowly escaped, but he felt terribly exhausted, his legs not moving anywhere near fast enough. Draven caught up to him, he prepared for the impact of another axe. Desperately, he ran towards the tower, his last safe place. He was near dead, but he kept fighting. He shot at them when they drew too close to him; they were in a bad state, just like him, they couldn't afford to risk themselves. He was flooded with relief as he heard heavy, familiar footsteps behind him. Taric had returned, and took no hesitation to heal his companion, repairing his wounds a surprising amount.

"You handled yourself well." Taric smiled at him. "You should head back and heal up." He suggested gently. Ezreal wouldn't deny that he appreciated the man's gentle nature and kindness, but it wasn't what he needed at the time.

"Not yet. Not until I get back at these two." Ezreal stated. "Be ready to stun one of them." He advised, running back towards the two enemies. Taric followed closely behind, not at all surprised by how risky the Prodigy was being. He was young, he didn't think things through. Sometimes it paid off on the battlefield to have somebody so stupidly confident in themself, other times it turned out to be inconvenient, a reason for many needless mistakes. He watched as Ezreal fired off a blast at the Warden, he followed in and did what he could, quickly healing the blonde just as he managed to defeat the Warden. Tossing out what he could, he managed to hit the Noxian with a stun. Quickly, he raised his hammer and brought it down to the earth, his armor letting off a glow, empowering the Prodigy just as he switched his focus, firing off just a few more shots at the Noxian while he was immobilized. Draven muttered his curses as he fell, closing his eyes as he felt the pain disappear, his consciousness slipping from him until it faded completely.

The battle only went downhill from there for the Executioner; Ezreal kept killing, and because he kept killing, he kept getting stronger, which allowed him to kill more and more. Draven did his best to avoid being caught by the brat alone, but it proved useless. Somehow, the Prodigy always found him, always killed him, even when it was barely worth his time. He was convinced that the kid only did it to mock him. His teammates couldn't decide who they wanted to blame for the disaster of a battle, so they took turns bad-mouthing each other. Occasionally, the blame was placed on him; he responded by lashing back, talking twice as tough as they did, pointing out their flaws - they deserved it. Unsurprisingly, their defeat came shortly, he stood at their team's Nexus, growling to himself as he could do nothing but watch it die. Ezreal was there, of course.

"Noxians... I hate those guys." He caught the blonde saying faintly. The mere utterance, the suggestion of such disrespect for Noxus, only fueled his rage further. The brat needed to be knocked down a peg or two, and he had to be the one to do it.

* * *

Draven met up with his brother after the disaster of a match was over. The two mostly resided within the Institute of War, as did many of the other Champions of the League. The housing quarters were generously roomy, although he'd been told that was a luxury mostly enjoyed by Champions and significant members of the Institute. It was better than living in Noxus; it was his home, but he preferred to not have to routinely check to make sure his coin purse was still within his possession.

"So, you got beat up by a snotty kid today." Darius pointed out, much to his brother's annoyance. "How does that feel?" Darius was shooting him a look of mixed amusement and disapproval.

"Feels wrong." Draven answered with a growl, "Unacceptable." He stated, "Stupid kid used his stupid sparkly man-servant as a crutch. Can't fight me at all on his own, but I could never get him alone." The Executioner hissed. "I get stuck with the worst summoners." He grumbled.

"Demand a rematch if he really hurt your pride that much." Darius shrugged. "Just you and him, no crutches." He suggested all he could. He wasn't particularly thrilled to have heard that his brother had lost to a Piltovian. It shouldn't have mattered to him, but he wanted his brother to make things even.

"What if he refuses?" Draven questioned.

"He won't." Darius laughed, "Remember what I told you? If you want to bring somebody down, you learn everything about them, and find a way to turn it all against them." The elder brother reminded, a lesson he'd taught well when they were younger, "He's a spoiled brat. Thinks the concept of danger is all good fun, doesn't know when to back down." He pointed out. "So challenge him, and if he refuses, question his abilities. He's too proud of himself to turn you down. That's your advantage."

"Hmm..." Draven pondered the thought. "Well, let's go find him, then." He grinned, setting off down the hall with his brother in tow. The Blood Brothers stalked the Institute's hallways, carried by quick feet; it was clear to all that they were predatory, the sharpness with which they scanned the environment for their target was visible in their eyes. The Executioner asked himself where he would find the Piltovian - most likely with the Gem Knight, who spent his time in a certain lounge after matches - and made his way there. Surely enough, there he was, a full, mocking smile beaming off of that hideously smug face of the Prodigy. Draven approached the blonde, who was, as he had guessed, in the company of The Gem Knight; laughing over how good he was, his false beliefs in his skills. The Noxian's eyes were filled with spite and intent, he made his presence known by clearing his throat. Ezreal turned to him and smirked.

"I want a rematch." Draven stated with a growl. A single laugh burst from the Prodigy's mouth.

"What, haven't learned your lesson yet?" Ezreal questioned, his words coated with pride. The kid was in love with himself, it was sickening. Nobody deserved to think so highly of themself, unless it was him, Draven.

"No, _you_ haven't learned _yours_." The Noxian stated, as his brother simply observed.

"What lesson? That I'm a way better fighter than an old man without even trying?" Ezreal questioned. Every self-righteous comment the brat spoke only made him more eager to put the kid in his place.

"No, that you can't fight without somebody else around to be your _crutch_." Draven stated with a hiss, causing the blonde to pause, a look of disbelief washing over his face.

"You're just mad because you lost." The Piltovian crossed his arms over his chest, failing to mask a moment of insecurity.

"Really? If you're so much better than me, a one on one fight should be nothing for you." Draven stated with a shrug, his brother smiling slightly at the hints of manipulation. "Unless you don't really think you're as good as you say you are." Ezreal frowned.

"When and where?" The blonde questioned.

"Ezreal, you do not have to prove anything to him." Taric cut in, grabbing the young one by the shoulder.

"Back off, this is none of your business." Darius stepped forward, growling at the Knight. "It's between my brother and blondie."

"Ezreal is my friend, I am free to give him advice if I believe he is acting on impulse." Taric stated calmly.

"So you don't think he can do it without your help?" Darius questioned, raising an eyebrow, only serving to aid his brother's deceitful proposal.

"I did not say that, I simply meant-" Taric tried to explain.

"No, he's right." Ezreal agreed with the Noxian. "Sorry, Taric, but this has nothing to do with you." He apologized. "So, when and where?" Ezreal repeated the question. Draven smiled slightly; he'd played the kid into his hands.

"Tomorrow night, Summoner's Rift." Draven answered. "No Summoners to play puppeteer, no back-ups. Just you and me."

"No foul play?" Ezreal questioned, "I know you Noxians can't resist fighting dirty." He hissed, not shy to express his bitterness towards Noxus, even when faced by two of its deadliest warriors.

"I don't need to fight dirty to beat you." The Executioner stated.

"Alright then. Tomorrow night." The Prodigy agreed, holding out his hand to seal their deal. Draven reached out, but paused, pulling back for a moment.

"Wait." He said, "Let's make this more _interesting_, shall we?" He suggested.

"How?" Ezreal questioned, curious.

"We'll raise the stakes. Wouldn't be fun if your only reward for winning was some ego-stroking, would it?" Draven questioned. Ezreal hummed in thought.

"I'm listening." The blonde said, urging him to continue.

"The winner gets to have the loser as a personal servant for two weeks." Draven offered. Ezreal paused, frowning slightly. "What, not interested? Shouldn't be a worry for you if you're going to win." He stated.

"Make it _months_." Ezreal demanded. Draven smiled, spitting on his hand before reaching out. A bit taken aback, the blonde followed suit, spitting into his palm somewhat awkwardly.

"I really think you should reconsider this." Taric advised, only to be ignored as the two grasped each others hands firmly.

"_Deal._" Ezreal agreed. Draven smirked as he released the blonde's hand, nodding and turning on his heel, his brother trailing along behind him.

"Seeya later, girly." Draven laughed to himself. The Piltovian frowned slightly at the name calling. He shook his hand out to the air, hoping to get some of the other man's spit off of him. He glanced over at his companion, staring up at the man who stood nearly a foot taller than him, who was giving him a scolding look.

"What? Nothing wrong with a little competition." He shrugged, careless for the risk he was taking.

"Did you stop to think for a second that maybe he was so intent on a rematch for a reason?" Taric questioned, his voice expressing his disapproval. "Why he decided to throw in that extra part of your deal at the last second?" He went on, "He would not offer something like that unless he was entirely sure he would win."

"Or unless he's an idiot." The blonde said dismissively, "Which he is."

"I am being serious, Ezreal." The brunette said with a firm tone, "I have fought beside Draven before, and I am certain that he has something sinister planned." He warned, "He would not take such a great risk at himself, I believe he has played your self-confidence against you to achieve something else." Often times, it frustrated the Knight to care so much for somebody so impulsive, especially when his advice was brushed off and ignored. "I know you do not like the people of Noxus, but from what I have learned during my time on Runeterra, I do believe there is more to them than brute force. They are equally skilled at bloodshed as they are at psychological warfare and manipulation."

"So what? What's so bad that he could do to me if I lose?" Ezreal questioned. The Gem Knight was plenty patient, and he cared deeply for the Piltovian, but somehow the Prodigy was wearing down his ability to remain composed.

"I do not know, I simply think you need to learn how to take more caution. You may dislike Draven, but that does not mean he is stupid." the Gem Knight couldn't shake off a feeling, an instinctive knowledge that things were going to go horribly wrong, and he would be the one the Prodigy would be lamenting his troubles to. It was the way things always were; he warned Ezreal of a dangerous situation, Ezreal ignored him, Ezreal got hurt, Ezreal complained, yet still never considered taking his advice into account before he made decisions.

"Wow, so you really don't think I can do it." Ezreal remarked, frowning. He was ready to rip his hair out; what he meant to be care, the Piltovian heard as faithlessness and doubt.

"I did not say that! I do not want you to get hurt, Ezreal." Taric corrected, raising his voice, "I believe you have made a mistake by accepting Draven's challenge, he has killed men for _years_ to make a living, and you only took up fighting because you were mistakenly summoned to the League." He pointed out, "I _do_ believe you are strong, and a naturally talented fighter, but you do not have anywhere near the amount of experience that he has."

"Well, I can't really back out now." It was beginning to sink in; He had agreed to a match against somebody who, he hated to admit, knew better what to do on the battlefield. Killing was the Noxian's job; the most he ever did was run around in uncharted jungles and hope he had enough supplies with him.

"Are you starting to understand why I did not want you to agree to this deal without thinking it through first?" Taric questioned; the Piltovian swore the man could read his mind, on many occasions he seemed to know exactly how he felt, what he was thinking.

"Yeah, I really am..." Ezreal answered with a sigh. "How can you tell?" He questioned, "You always know what I'm thinking."

"I pay attention." The Knight stated, as if suggesting the Piltovian learn from his example, "I can see a lot simply by looking at you."

"I'm having second thoughts now." The Piltovian made a face of worry.

"You have to fight him now." Taric reminded, "Just be careful of him, do not let your ego cloud your judgement."

"Taric, you've fought in some real battles before, right?" Ezreal asked, watching as the brunette nodded in response, "Do you think you could help me practice a bit before I go up against Draven? Maybe teach me a few things about combat."

"It is the least I could do." Taric smiled.

* * *

"So, now you've manipulated a child into agreeing to fight you when you know there's no way he can win against you." Darius stated, as he made his way towards the Institute's living quarters with his brother. "Good use of exploitation, you've gotten better at being discreet." He never would have expected to hear himself calling his brother discreet, and yet he had; needless to say, he was proud.

"Well, I learned it from the guy who raised me." Draven smirked; it was true, Darius had taught him a good number of underhanded tools and tricks of survival, but there was much he had learned on his own. "I'm not too big on the whole 'subliminal brainwashing' thing though. Not flashy enough for me." He admitted; it was no surprise.

"You've learned well" Darius complimented; perhaps he had fed his brother's ego too much when they were younger, he often wondered if Draven would have grown up to be less self-obsessed had he been harsher in his teachings. "You know he can't win now, right? You won't be stuck with some idiotic Summoner who doesn't understand you well enough to fully utilize your skills." The elder brother pointed out, "There's nothing he can do against you." He stated with complete certainty.

"Yeah, I know." Draven smirked, "I mean, he's already lost, being put up against the best throwing arm in Valoran." Darius nearly let out a sigh at his brother's egotism. "But really, even an idiot could take this little brat down if they followed my example." It was mostly true; Draven's battle strategy, by its nature, was perfect for dealing with the Piltovian prodigy.

"Just don't let your advantage on him get to your head. Stay focused, don't slack off just because you're ahead." He reminded; he did his best to keep Draven in line, even if his efforts often seemed wasted.

"Don't worry about it. I'm gonna have this kid kissing my boots tomorrow night." Draven laughed wickedly.

"And all of this because he tried to be half the narcissist you are." Darius joked, knowing Draven hardly minded being called anything along the lines of a narcissist. Self-obsessed, egomaniac, conceited; they were all names he wore proudly, and he figured he deserved to.

"Hey, _nobody_ should love themselves more than they love me. That's the rule." The younger brother stated simply, as he approached the door to his room. "Anyway, I think I'm gonna wind down a little. It's a real shock to the system, seeing somebody think they're better than the Draven." He said, pulling out a key from a pocket on his vest.

"Have fun." He faintly heard his brother saying as he unlocked the door. He stepped into his room, glancing around quickly at his choice of decor.

"I think I need another mirror in here." He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he shut the door with his foot. "_Think_? Who am I kidding?" He questioned out loud to himself, "I don't need to think to know... It never hurts to see more Draven." A quick laugh burst from his mouth before he carried on, pulling at the buckles that held his arm guards on.

In honesty, Draven scarcely ever doubted himself, simply placed blame when he didn't do as well as he should have. He was infuriated that he could be beaten by a child who was scarcely strong enough to lift a blade, but not with himself. It was anybody's fault but his own; he could land an axe on a running target that was too far away for him to even see, clearly he was being held back by idiotic, clumsy summoners, and even worse team mates. He growled, muttering to himself, he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. Sometimes he talked to himself just so he could listen to his own voice, sometimes he simply enjoyed having his own company. It was a habit he'd developed as he grew up; as children, Darius advised him to speak to himself quietly if he ever got lonely. He didn't notice it much, but he still had an odd tendency to chat with himself when he was alone or bored of whatever company he had.

His brother had been more than generous to him when they were younger. He wasn't much of one for honor and loyalty, but he knew he owed Darius for his kindness. Nobody had forced him to take care of his younger brother, yet he did, all because of the one rule they lived by; never betray your own blood. Darius had taught him much that he needed to know in order to survive; how to hold a blade, which places to strike in order to do the most harm. Perhaps Darius was more fond of the specifics, of precise cuts and efficiently slicing away at the places that would lose the most blood the fastest, but it was undeniable that the Executioner's technique reflected the one of his teacher.

He sat on a cushioned chair, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. He at least owed it to Darius not to embarrass him by losing a fight against a child. His victory was assured for the following night, he would make up for his shameful defeat by beating the bratty kid into the ground; Ezreal's legion of idiotic fangirls would realize their wrongs and sing their praises of Draven instead. Girls liked a pretty boy like the scrawny Piltovian, but they would see the error of their ways surely enough, they would see the glory and total perfection that was Draven. They would all see, and they would all be sorry for ever having a shred of doubt in him.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

The night came and passed, a new day emerged over the grand halls and towers of the Institute of War. Ezreal had awoken from a particularly comfortless sleep; his growing nervousness had plagued him through the night. His muscles were stiff and aching as he rose from his bed, a noise of frustration passed his lips as he stretched his arms out. Never had a needless worry kept him up at night, it irritated him to know the Noxian's mind games had gotten through to him. Dressing himself quickly, he made his way out of his room with no hesitation.

It was rare that he stayed at the Institute, more often than not he was out traveling, or at home with his parents in Piltover, who worried for their precious boy, despite how many times he told them he would be safe on his own. He had nearly forgotten which room was his, or what it even looked like; luckily for him, his sense of direction rarely ever failed him. He hadn't been surprised when he walked into his room and found it sparsely decorated, save for one or two things of his he'd thought he lost on a journey. Making his way down the hall, he stopped in front of a door, another within the living quarters. It was early, he had time to get more practice in before he had to face off against Draven. There was a muffled groan heard on the other side of the door. He knocked louder.

"Taric, wake up! I need your help!" The Piltovian shouted, far from patient. From what he gathered, Taric was not fond of waking up particularly early. He could hear a few choice complaints about him and shuffling feet on the other side of the door. Shortly after, the lock clicked and the door swung open slowly, revealing a less than pleased Taric, his eyelids heavy, a tangled mess of brown hair where the Prodigy was so used to seeing perfectly groomed locks. "Good morning, sunshine." Ezreal laughed.

"What did you want?" The Knight mumbled a question. He yawned, turning his head slightly so he could catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror. "I look horrendous." He muttered to himself. He was cloaked in his bed clothes; for some reason, Ezreal nearly believed the man slept in his armor.

"Well, is there anything you can do for stiff muscles?" Ezreal questioned quickly. "Also, I think I want to go another round or two with you before I fight Draven." Taric stepped back into his room, gesturing for the Prodigy to follow him. The two were in the lounging section of the Gem Knight's living space. Taric crossed the room to a door, one leading to his bed chamber.

"I would need to dress myself if you want to practice." He stated, his voice fairly quiet. He stepped into his bedroom, the Prodigy took a seat, respecting his friend's privacy. Glancing around, he noticed the room was decorated with enchanting colors, and the same gems that Taric was famous for. He couldn't help but wonder how the Knight acquired them, perhaps he had some otherworldly technique for creating them. A moment later, the Gem Knight emerged from his room, walked over to the Prodigy and placed a small crystal in his hand.  
"Place that wherever you feel pain and it should heal you." He instructed before returning to his room.

"I don't know how to use gems." Ezreal called after him.

"You do not need to." Taric shouted back at him, "That one is intended for self use. It is not as strong as being healed by somebody trained in gem magic, but it will heal minor wounds." The Piltovian hummed in thought, slipping his jacket off quickly. He placed the crystalline formation against his exposed arm, watching with curiosity as it glowed faintly, the pain in his arm numbing and fading.

"Neat." He remarked, moving the crystal to his other arm. The Piltovian moved the crystal around to each part of his body that was troubling him, until he felt fully refreshed.

"Did it work?" The Gem Knight questioned as he returned, clad in his iconic blue armor. Ezreal nodded his response.

"Yeah. Your gems are really convenient, you know that?" He complimented, as he held out the crystal to its owner.

"Thank you." Taric said with a modest tone, "It is a magic that never should have been forgotten." He stated, nearly saddened.

"Well, from what I've seen you do, I'd have to agree." Ezreal smiled with warmth. Taric nearly sighed; the Piltovian hardly realized the strength his words held, how his flattery reassured him.

"That is very kind of you to say." He returned the smile, "However, standing around talking about forgotten practices is not going to prepare you for your battle tonight, is it?" He questioned, nudging the Prodigy back to focus.

"Yeah, you're right." Ezreal agreed, "We'll get something to eat, then to the practice arena again?" He suggested, pulling his jacket back on.

"I have no objection to that plan." The brunette agreed. The two promptly made their way to their destination; the Institute's dining hall. They discussed simple matters over their meal, the Gem Knight having to suppress the need he felt to wipe the crumbs off of the Prodigy's face, unsure of how Ezreal could make such a mess of a single meal.

"So what can I really do if she keeps killing them accidentally?" Ezreal questioned with a mouth full of food, "I mean, I can't get mad at her because she's really not trying to, and it's good that they're dead, but really, I need the money more than she does. What do you even _say_ in that situation without risking sounding rude?" He questioned one of his many issues about battling in the League. "Summoners can be really inconsiderate of each other sometimes." He shrugged to himself.

"Some of them can be pointlessly cruel. It is saddening." The Gem Knight agreed, shaking his head with shame. "I do not understand how belittling another Summoner is supposed to improve their performance." He admitted.

"I just don't really know what to think of them." Ezreal sighed, "Honestly, I'm kinda glad Draven said 'no Summoners', I never know what to expect when I'm being controlled by one of them." He had to admit, the man had a fair idea. He dropped his fork loudly on his empty plate, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, causing the brunette to frown.

"Are you ready to leave?" Taric questioned, not impressed by the blonde's lack of table manners. His own people's customs were different from those on Runeterra, although strangely not by much; he strongly doubted making such a mess of oneself was considered polite at meals.

"Yeah, sure." Ezreal mumbled, swallowing the last of his food. "Do you think we could go over footwork a bit more?" He requested, standing up, not noticing as he nearly knocked his chair over as he stood.

"Whatever you think will be most helpful to you." Taric bowed his head slightly, beginning to lead the Prodigy to the Institute's training grounds, leaving the room to silence. Ezreal had much to be looked over, much to practice before he could fight Draven, he had realized it during his sleepless night. He refused himself the luxury of nervousness; self-doubt would do nothing but hinder his performance. He would fight, even if he knew he was pathetically unprepared, but never would he allow the Noxian the pleasure of seeing him weak. He followed after the Gem Knight to the training arena.

* * *

_I will be back with an update at some point in time, and I apologize for the lack of action. Let me know what you think of it?_

I may have made many errors with syntax and grammar, and I apologize for that, I am not 100% sure how to use some features of the English language.


	2. Fighting With Fear

_Well, I am back with an update and amazed by all the wonderful feedback I've gotten from the community. I am hoping I'll be able to pull the next update out sooner than last time, as I went through a small period of creative laziness. There's a considerable amount of violence in this chapter, but nothing too terribly graphic. Thank you so very much to all you lovely reviewers. I wanted to address one thing in particular right off the bat, because I should really clarify._

_"Are you sure its Darius and Ezreal instead of Draven and Ezreal? I just wanted to ask, because that seems more evident than the latter."_

_And to answer that, it's actually both. I only listed Darius and Ezreal because it's more of an emotionally-involved thing (eventually), whereas what happens between Draven and Ezreal is less so. But yes, Draven and Ezreal will have a relationship of sorts. Hope that clears the air._

_**Chapter Two: **Fighting With Fear  
**Word Count:** 4,600 (roughly)_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Darius_  
_**Pairings:** None_  
_**Warnings:** Not-so-mild violence, potty mouthing  
_

* * *

The Piltovian Prodigy paced down the halls of the Institute of War. He had his practice with Taric, rested up, eaten. It was the time they'd agreed upon, he only needed to make his way to the summoning chambers. He could fight Draven, he had to, he was going to win. There was no room for doubting himself, even though in his heart he was terrified of what was surely to come.

"My brother said you gave him a difficult time yesterday." A low voice growled at him, causing the Piltovian to flinch at the sudden sound. He turned on his heel slightly; he knew who it was, but he felt strange talking to somebody he wasn't facing. "I say he went weak." The elder of the Noxian brothers stated, "He underestimated you, went easy on you."

"Even if that's true, what's your point?" Ezreal questioned. His knees trembled slightly beneath his weight, his heart constricting in on itself. The man had a commanding presence, one strong enough to be felt by even the least in touch with the world of spirits; unfortunately for Ezreal, he was quite in tune with energies, the Noxian's cloud of intimidation only struck him harder.

"He won't be making that mistake again." Darius stated with a sureness in his voice. "Unless he wants to disappoint me by failing me a second time, by losing to a child." The Noxian held him in a steady gaze, only serving to make the blonde even less comfortable, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Do not make his mistakes. Do not underestimate him now that you've angered him." He growled. "He will stop at nothing to prove his superiority. Remember that."

"Are you... Warning me or something?" The Piltovian asked, doing his best not to look away from the man, almost feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn't show his weakness, it would only assure the Noxian of his power. _'He could kill me right now'_ Ezreal told himself within his head, _'He doesn't even have a weapon with him, and he could kill me'_ he tried to shake off the idea of the ways he could easily be murdered on the spot, but the thoughts wouldn't stray from him. "That's kinda nice of you." He shrugged.

"I'm grieving your defeat." The Noxian stated, letting out a laugh. "Enjoy your last hour of freedom." He advised, turning to leave, only to be stopped.

"Hey, you know, I've seen you go up against Jayce a few times." The blonde called his attention back _'He wouldn't kill you, he can't. He's not so scary'_ he reminded himself, as if he needed to be convinced of it. "I know him from back home. He says you're not as tough as everybody thinks you are." The Noxian only laughed louder.

"Your friend is a coward." Darius brushed off the Piltovian's comments. "If he faced me head on instead of keeping me at a distance and shooting me, he'd be dead." He stated with sureness in his voice.

"So he takes advantage of what he has at his disposal?" Ezreal questioned, "And that makes him a coward?" He wiped at a bead of sweat that ran down his neck.

"He is a coward because he is too afraid of death to even try to fight me fairly." Darius answered, realizing why his brother found the boy so annoying; he was clearly fond of challenging those he disliked, questioning their power, "And do not try to mask your insecurities, boy. The stench of fear is reeking from you." He said casually, turning fully away from him. "We've wasted enough of each others time. You have a battle to lose." He stated as he strode away, his footsteps loud and metallic. "Don't keep Draven waiting." He called over an armored shoulder, "I'll be watching you both."

Ezreal watched as the man walked away, as if rooted in place by a fear that lingered long after the cause was removed. He finally found the will to move his legs, he stumbled back, losing his footing on solid ground. A heavy breath escaped his lips, he shook his head, trying to remove some of his nervousness. Carefully, he made his steps to the summoning chamber; there were some unique methods of 'liberated summoning' as some called it; the practice was rare, machines were used in place of Summoners far more often than a liberated summon was performed. For whatever reason, the Institute of War allowed their fight to take place.

The doors swung open, Ezreal stepped inside the summoning chamber, a dimly lit, stone-walled room. He found it foreign and unfamiliar; he had only stepped into a summoning chamber a few times before, more used to being summoned from random locations, often at surprisingly convenient times. The doors shut behind him, pulled by a force of magic, one that was not seen with the eyes, but the spirit. He'd learned plenty about magic as a child, despite how little he seemed to pay attention to his studies. His lessons remained with him; magic was a force present everywhere, in everything, flowing through the world endlessly. Summoning magic was interesting for how it could connect two spirits so strongly, even if only for a single battle.

The room went black, whatever light that was present being smothered as magic overwhelmed the room. It passed over him, surrounding him, taking him far away and yet nowhere at all. His body was there, but it defied the rules of life, filled with a magic that allowed him to be embraced by death time and time again, but never truly perish.

_**WELCOME TO SUMMONER'S RIFT**_

The Prodigy inhaled sharply as he felt himself upon the summoning platform, his vision lightening to reveal the famous battlefield known as Summoner's Rift. He felt a unique freedom that he was not quite used to on the Fields of Justice; nobody was in his mind, nobody was there to control him. Admittedly, he was nervous, terribly so. Had the Noxian's mind games gotten to him?

_**THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL MINIONS SPAWN**_

His attention was turned to a small device provided for all Champions summoned; one that allowed access to a map, quick and easy communication around the battlefield, nothing he wasn't familiar with. A voice could be heard through it.

"Ready to get beat, kid?" Draven's voice stung at his ears. Ezreal glared at the device.

"I should be asking _you_ that, shouldn't I?" He shot back with no hesitation. He heard a laugh, an obnoxious laugh, on the other end.

"You're going to be begging for mercy before I'm even halfway through with you." Draven assured him, as the Piltovian quickly bought a simple item from the merchant; an enchanted ring.

"I don't do begging, sorry." Ezreal responded as he made his way past the blue crystal of his Nexus.

"Everybody makes exceptions." He heard, "I'll see you in mid." Draven laughed again.

_**MINIONS HAVE SPAWNED**_

Ezreal frowned, making his way down the middle lane of the battlefield just as the first wave of minions filed poured out of the nexus in a uniform line. He turned slightly; the benefit of being without a Summoner to control him was freedom to get to his destination through whichever route he chose. He cut off, into the jungle; perhaps he could surprise his opponent. Through the trees and grass he went, until he found himself in the brush, watching the lane. As he had hoped, Draven passed by him, he lined up his aim and fired, taking the Noxian off guard. He smiled to himself as he emerged from the brush, firing off a weaker blast at the man, who responded by clumsily throwing his axes, missing the Piltovian narrowly.

"Hiding in the bush because you know you can't face me head on?" Draven questioned, as the blonde ran towards the safety of his tower. "Should have known."

"I'm not afraid of you." The blonde stated. He heard a laugh from the Noxian.

"If you're not, you will be." He said promisingly. The two mostly ignored each other towards the beginning, every now and then tossing attacks at each other as they focused on the minions. The Piltovian felt secure; he had managed to wear the Noxian down a little with his shots, avoiding axes consistently. He laughed as he ducked out of the way of another thrown axe.

"What's wrong, Draven? Can't handle me?" He questioned.

"Shut it, kid, you got lucky." Draven hissed. Ezreal looked around; he could take the kill if he planned his next moves right. He focused himself; he was surrounded by magic, just like he'd been taught, he was made of it. In a burst of golden light, he shifted the magic in and around him to a different place, vanishing from his spot and reappearing next to the Noxian, the residual magic from the trick bursting from him in another shot. It was a unique feeling, losing his physical body for a split second, traveling through the air as his pure essence; he was one with the tides of the arcane that flowed across the world, if only for a moment. Draven didn't bother to fight back, merely tried to create distance by running. It served him no use, Ezreal fired off a single concentrated blast and watched the Noxian collapse to the ground with a grunt.

_**FIRST BLOOD**_

The familiar voice of the fight's announcer boomed. He had always wondered where the detached voice originated from. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. A blue light beamed into the sky from where he stood; there was no harm in healing up quickly before facing Draven again. A few seconds of a wait and he was gone, returned to his Nexus pool, letting out a noise of comfort, almost relief as he was filled with new energy, completely revitalized in a matter of moments. He hummed in thought as he glanced over at the shopkeeper, contemplative. Did he need anything? Furrowing his brow, he considered his options, the items he was saving up for.

He shook his head to himself and made his way back to his lane with bounding strides; he was going to prove himself, he was going to beat Draven and get a free lackey for a good two months. Admittedly, he had no idea what he was going to do with Draven as his servant. The Piltovian contemplated what he could possibly do with a creepy old guy answering his every beck and call. There was always public humiliation, which begged the question, could Draven even _be_ humiliated when another living creature was paying attention to him? The Noxian delighted far too much in any form of acknowledgement, he really doubted the man could truly be so in love with himself. He had to have some sort of insecurities, right?

Ezreal's focus was drawn back to the present as an axe flew past him. He still had to fight before he got to dissect Draven's mind, he'd nearly forgotten. The blonde cursed himself in his head, '_What are you thinking?_' he asked himself, '_Don't let your guard down for even a second around this guy,_' he reminded. Draven smirked at him, always with a self-satisfied grin on his smug face.

"Missed me." Ezreal teased, shooting at a minion to deliver a killing blow. 'Farming', as the Summoners called it, was an activity he found a bit dull, but he understood the necessity of it.

"Don't flatter yourself, kid. I wasn't aiming for you." Draven laughed, icy eyes glimmering as if to say 'I'm better than you'. Ezreal felt his skin crawling, he scowled at the man with his head full of spiteful thoughts. The Piltovian wasn't normally a vengeful or mean person, but he couldn't stand being treated with such condescension, let alone from a Noxian. He growled to himself and insisted on simply ignoring Draven and focusing on farming, yet something was nagging him. Ezreal couldn't deny the fact that he was on edge, he flinched every time Draven threw one of his axes towards a minion that was close to him. It was far from normal for him to be so jumpy during a match, normally he could manage to control himself even if he was a bit nervous.

A cry of shock escaped him as he saw the Noxian throwing his axes very intently towards him. Reflexively, he turned on his heel quickly and threw his weight back, feet moving agilely as he narrowly sidestepped the threatening blades. Straining with a grunt, he felt something rip against his leg painfully. He hadn't been fast enough, a fresh wound had been torn into his flesh, luckily it only grazed him. It stung him terribly, but he knew it could have been worse. Putting weight down on his wounded leg only worsened it, he lost his focus as he shifted his weight to become comfortable. Draven took his chance, an axe slicing along the boy's pathetically thin arm, drawing out another noise of pain.

"Pay attention, Blondie." the Noxian chimed, like a school teacher speaking to a distracted student. Ezreal let out a labored breath, clutching his arm as if trying to stop the flow of blood. "Why don't you come out from under your turret and actually try to fight me?" Draven questioned mockingly.

"Shut up, you've had me pushed up to turret this whole time!" Ezreal barked back.

"And why is that, huh?" Draven asked. "Just surrender, save yourself the strain of struggling against your superiors." He advised. He could see the boy failing to come up with another half-assed insult. If anything, the kid's stupid determination was admirable, despite how annoying it was. "Don't believe me? Come out from under your turret and try to fight me." He challenged, stepping back a few paces, away from the group of minions that fought each other aimlessly. Draven held his arms out at his sides, his axes having returned to him. "Go ahead, I got hit by your turret, we're pretty much even in health." Ezreal frowned, thinking over the challenge.

"Fine." Ezreal agreed, stepping around the minions that fought at his feet, readying his shooting arm. He stood across from the Noxian, dirt and grass beneath his feet, a bit unsure of how to initiate the fight.

"I'll let you start." Draven shrugged, rolling his shoulders back. "So, whenever you're ready, kid." The Noxian was inviting him, almost sounding courteous as he offered an advantage to the Piltovian. Something about it still seemed terribly patronizing, but it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity.

The Piltovian moved quickly, firing off a strong blast at the Noxian, who reacted immediately, throwing an axe his way. Ezreal leapt to his right in an attempt to avoid the weapon, a noise of shock and pain escaping him as it made contact with his shooting arm. Had Draven anticipated his movements? He shot at the man again, skipping back, firing weaker shots as he moved intently. Draven lazily tossed his axes, still somehow managing to hit the boy. The Noxian was clearly holding back, but why? To prove a point? Ezreal stumbled back as an axe hit him in the shoulder. He had given Draven everything he could muster, and the man managed to hurt him terribly while barely breaking a sweat. A moment of terrible realization crept over the Piltovian; he couldn't win against Draven, even with the advantage he had. He saw another axe coming his way, and he flung himself to the ground to escape it. Draven smirked, stepping over to the Piltovian, towering over him.

"Get up." He ordered, standing no more than a foot away from him. Ezreal growled and glared up at the Noxian.

"Kill me." Ezreal spat out the words. Draven was mocking him with his pity. "Just do it, _kill me!_ Get it over with!" He shouted. The Noxian sighed as he sheathed his axes, bending slightly and taking the Piltovian's wrist in a strong grip. Pulling up, he forced the boy to his feet. Ezreal tore his arm out of the man's grip, still glaring, his temper flaring. "I don't need your pity!" He stated.

"What, you don't like being treated like a child?" Draven questioned casually, amused that he could get the boy so fired up. "How old are you, anyway?" He knew how to bother the kid, it served him some good entertainment. "Listen, I didn't plan on killing you. I know you're already scared of me. That's good enough." He shrugged, turning his back towards the blonde and stepping away. Ezreal growled behind him, letting out a cry of fury; Draven knew full well what was coming. The Noxian casually sidestepped a mighty wave of energy as it flew across the battlefield.  
"Don't even try." Draven called over his shoulder. He laughed, seeing the Piltovian fuming with anger out of the corner of his eye. Ezreal turned, walking away; he knew he had lost their duel, the shame of his defeat was written all over his face. Draven smiled wickedly, taking his axes out of their sheaths. Taking a deep breath, he lined up his aim, whirling his axes, waiting for the exact moment to release. He breathed out, sending his axes tearing along the ground, ripping away the terrain that stood ahead of them. Ezreal was well out of his view, all he could do was wait...

_**A CHAMPION HAS BEEN SLAIN**_

"Perfect, as always." He said to himself below his breath. Clearly, it didn't take much to become a 'Champion' of the League of Legends. From what he'd heard, the Piltovian had been summoned to a battle once by some coincidence mixed with a mistake. The summoners must have been desperate for new competitors whenever the kid was accepted as an accidental Champion. Draven let out a sigh as he recalled to his base; it was almost insulting to have to share equal status with all the people, otherworldly beings, and wretched creatures he knew he was better than. He supposed it was charitable of him to allow people to think they were on his level, to give them that glimmer of hope. He had always considered himself to be quite selfless, to share the treasure he was with the world. His attention was drawn to the shopkeeper, who he bargained with for some items to power himself up.

He'd allowed the kid the precious reward of drawing first blood, he was kind enough to humor the Piltovian brat with a fallacy of superiority. It was all over. It was time to put his foot down, to assert himself, proving that arrogant child wrong, one thrown axe at a time. The boy was already beginning to understand the hopelessness of his situation; he recognized the look of epiphany in Ezreal's eyes as he stood over him, holding the last thread of his life between his fingers and threatening to sever it. It was a lesson he would reinforce with bloodshed, until the truth was ingrained in his witless, blonde head.

He took the time he had to get back into the middle lane, strolling along with a wave of minions, walking right up to the enemy turret. Left with nothing better to do, he began to work away at the stone tower, throwing his axes with greater force than usual. Ezreal would be on his feet again in little time, but it hardly mattered. He had made his point to the boy, and he would be glad to further demonstrate it.

**_BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED_**

"Damn it." Ezreal mumbled to himself, shaking off the numbness of revival. He stretched out his limbs quickly, tossing his gold at the shopkeeper and quickly requesting a certain item; he no longer had an advantage, he had to hurry to catch up or risk falling further behind. Glancing at the device he'd been given, he checked the map, frowning. Draven was nowhere to be found. There was no option for him but to return to the middle lane and hope he could push back, even the score again by taking a turret.

He made his way down the lane, ready to run if the Noxian tried to ambush him. Minions in purple clothes had swarmed around the inner turret, causing the Piltovian to sigh with exhaustion. He would have preferred to save it for a fight, but it would take him too long to pick off the minions one by one; he charged up his Trueshot Barrage, letting out a cry of exertion before releasing it, wiping out a good majority of the purple minions and leaving the rest weakened. The remaining few went down easily, and he continued on his way, still cautious and anticipating some sort of surprise attack. He had no time to spare, he approached the next wave of enemy minions and shot them down quickly, hitting them a bit harder than he needed to.

Ezreal soon found himself at the purple turret, he glanced down at his small map again as he shot at the stone tower. There was no reason why Draven shouldn't try to stop him, unless he was trying to patronize the Piltovian once more. Still, he didn't know when he'd get more time alone with one of the enemy turrets.

_**BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

"What?" Ezreal asked out loud, checking his map again with disbelief. Sure enough, another one of his turrets had fallen. "Nobody's even been pushing that lane!" he cried out with frustration. He growled, taking his anger out on the enemy tower, unsure of how the minions could push a lane so hard on their own. Suddenly, a distinct pain had struck into his back, throwing him forward with the unexpected impact, tearing a cry of pain from his throat as he collapsed.

"Miss me?" The voice was unmistakable. Ezreal forced himself up onto his feet, not bothering to even turn to face his attacker, simply bolting off into the trees, jumping through the air with an Arcane Shift to create distance between them. His heart had leapt into his throat, he was dizzy with fear, but he had to keep running, for his own sake. Draven would surely pursue him, and he couldn't risk another death. As he anticipated, he heard heavy footsteps behind him, catching up to him. He hoped he wasn't leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The Piltovian felt his knees weakened with every step he took, running around a corner, shifting his body through a wall ahead of him. He clamped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breath by force, praying he'd managed to outmaneuver the Noxian. The only sound he could hear was his heartbeat racing, his ears feeling swollen, all other noises muffled. He waited for a moment, quickly looking around him; if he tried to walk away, he'd have to either run by an enemy turret, or risk crossing paths with Draven again. He pressed his back against the wall, sinking to a sitting position, no longer able to stand. There was nowhere else for him to go; he began to recall to his base while he had the time.

"Come on, Blondie, what's wrong?" He could hear Draven's voice over the communication device, "Come out and play." The man laughed wickedly. He felt nauseous from hearing the taunting words, that awful laugh. He placed his hands just below his ribs and breathed deeply in an attempt to soothe his stomach. A soft, magical popping noise erupted beside him, and Draven came with it.

"Shit!" Ezreal cried out, panic flooding his senses. Draven had used a Flash? Of course, he'd forgotten the use of summoner spells was still permitted during liberated summons. Draven simply loomed over him, as if waiting for him to stand, clutching his axes with a firm grip. Ezreal crawled back on his hands and feet, muttering curses below his breath. One of his hands landed on a stone, he used it to push himself up to a stand, turning and running again. Draven only laughed, tossing his axes, making direct contact with his legs, successfully debilitating the blonde, who let out a groan and struggled to limp away. He quickened his steps, catching up to the boy easily.

Ezreal grunted softly as the Noxian man grabbed him by the back of his neck, pushing him up firmly against a wall of dirt and rock, his head colliding with it painfully. Too dazed to fight back, he simply waited for it; the sure death he was about to face, the blade tearing into his back. His eyes were closed tight, a moment passed and death did not find him. Draven simply held him there by his neck, one of his axes touching the back of his shoulder as a warning.

"Now, tell me something, Ezra." Draven began with an oddly quiet tone of voice. Why was he so close? Ezreal felt a shiver crawling along his spine, he felt sick again.

"It's Ezreal." The blonde mumbled.

"Whatever." Draven rolled his eyes. "Anyway, tell me..." He smiled slightly, "Are you afraid of me?" The Noxian questioned, nearly hissing the words, close enough that the Piltovian could feel his breath. Ezreal opened his mouth to speak. "Before you say anything at all, just be aware, I already know the answer." He stated with sureness in his voice. "I just want to hear you admit it."

"Why should I?" Ezreal choked; he knew he'd picked the worst time to challenge the man's authority, but he couldn't keep himself quiet.

"Because I can kill you right now." Draven answered. "So, are you afraid?" He asked again. The Piltovian hesitated; he was so much more than simply 'afraid'. He was completely alone against an enemy who had him hilariously outgunned, not even a Summoner was present to remove some of his anxieties. But to admit that to Draven would be to give him the assurance he longed for. Could he really do that, could he give up on his sense of self respect to save his life?  
"Hey, Girly." Draven called his attention back, "Answer me." he demanded, his axe putting a bit more pressure on the flesh beneath it.

"Y-yes." Ezreal spat out, accepting the belittling name, "Yes, I'm afraid of you." He admitted. Draven hummed to himself quietly before stepping back, releasing the Piltovian's neck. He spun his axe within his hand.

"Wrong answer." Draven stated before throwing his axe, hitting the boy in the middle of his back. The blonde fell against the wall ahead of him, using it to keep himself upright, shrieking a hideous noise. "You're terrified of me." The Noxian laughed, throwing another axe before he stepped back. It was enough; the boy would bleed to death from such precise wounds. "You understand now, don't you? You can't win against me. You're helpless." He shrugged, turning and walking away.

_**A CHAMPION HAS BEEN SLAIN  
**_

* * *

_An__d I will conclude by saying I've already started work on the next chapter and I'm hoping I can finish it within a week instead of within a month. Any reviews are always appreciated, and they tend to make me a happy author, so feel free to leave your thoughts, even if you only have two words to say. Thanks for reading._

_I also might have b/s'd a few announcer calls, please forgive me._


	3. Promises Made

_Oh golly gee you people really wanted this update. I'm very sorry for keeping you waiting, but at least I only took ten days to update this time, instead of two months (whoops). I get the message, though. You people are scary when you want updates. I promise the next one in two weeks **at the latest**. The very, **very** latest._

_Oh and don't worry, those of you asking for the inappropriate touching. It'll happen. Eventually._

_I really had to force myself to sit down and write this one, but lucky me, I'm getting more comfortable with fight scenes. I hope it pleases and satisfies my lovely readers. If it doesn't I will be very sad and feel like I have failed my audience. I should like to avoid that._

_**Chapter Three: **Promises Made  
**Word Count:** 6,800_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Darius, Jayce, small traces of Lux and Taric_  
_**Pairings:** None_  
_**Warnings:** Not-so-mild violence, potty mouthing_

* * *

Draven walked along with his hands behind his head, roaming the jungle until he came upon a monster camp. He knew the match was his to win, Ezreal was dead again, there was no harm in leaving the lanes alone for a little while. Surely, the Piltovian would be wary of him now; the poor kid started running the instant he approached. The only option the boy had was to hide, and hope he could push turrets quickly and get out before he was caught and killed again. He cut down the last of the monsters that stood in the camp.

_**PURPLE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

The Noxian sighed to himself, shrugging his shoulders. It would hardly help the boy; he'd already lost. Still, he roamed lazily back to his lane, more out of habit than out of genuine concern. Regular minions were hardly a challenge for him, killing them was a necessary bore. Ezreal would be alive again soon enough, yet another minor annoyance to be cut down. The boy's strength was not his own, despite what he seemed to believe; the confidence and strategic battle plans he thought he possessed were the knowledge of Summoners. Without a Summoner, he was helpless in a fight. Surely the Piltovian wasn't terribly stupid, but his skills for battle were sorely lacking. Draven, on the other hand, had years of experience fighting on the streets, in the Noxian military, and putting down criminals as an executioner. The battle couldn't even be called as such, it was a game of cat and mouse, predator and prey, and it was perfectly clear who played which part in the act.

The minions were taken care of, he checked his map quickly. Ezreal had respawned and wandered to a different lane, to push back, or avoid his predator; most likely both. The Noxian chuckled to himself, setting off into the brush, running along the river so he could reunite with his prey, his footsteps splashing up water. He wondered if the Piltovian would try to fight back, or if he'd run away again, unsure of which reaction would amuse him more. The Noxian began to run faster as he approached the lane, readying his axes for the slaughter, passing through a small patch of brush as he did. Scanning the area quickly, he frowned. The Piltovian was out of his sight.

"Probably hiding." He remarked with humor. Strolling past, he checked a bush for any sign of the Piltovian, and another. A scowl spread across his face. "Alright, kid, where are you?" The Noxian questioned loudly, with a tone of demanding. A growl escaped him as he checked his map yet again, searching for any slight trace of the Piltovian. "Damn it." An utterance made in anger. "Where did he go?" He questioned out loud.

* * *

Darius watched the ongoing fight from the spectating room. The room was mostly empty, save for a few faces he recognized from his battles, friends of the Piltovian; the Demacia girl, the foreign man with the magic crystals, and Jayce, the only one whose name he could remember off the top of his head. There was a Summoner among them as well. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't there to support the Explorer, aside from the Summoner, who betrayed no signs of allegiance one way or the other. It was probably best if he kept to himself, if he didn't bother the boy's loyal companions, who all made noises of displeasure when their friend was put at a disadvantage - rejoiced when he managed to accomplish something.

At the moment, Ezreal had just managed to sneak away from Draven, pushing a lane and leaving quickly, anticipating the arrival of his enemy. The boy was surely beginning to realize his folly, he was adapting to the circumstances that were all against him. If anything, the Piltovian was a fast learner, and naturally talented at using his knowledge of an environment to his advantage.

"Hey, your brother's a pretty good fighter." He heard beside him, spoken in a quiet tone. Darius turned his head slightly, Jayce had decided to start a pointless conversation with him. "I can tell he learned a lot of it from you." He stated. Jayce was the type of person who felt the need to get on everybody's good side, and the telltale signs of manipulation - or 'charm' as he would call it - were written all over him. Forced flattery, a fake smile; it was all too familiar to him.

"You accept your friend's defeat quite gracefully." Darius mused. Noxus was full of liars and bastards wearing friendly faces. Normally he would cut down any poor fool who dared to lie to his face, but he knew it would only cause him trouble. Jayce wasn't like the scum of Noxus, his intentions were presumably selfish, but otherwise far from malicious.

"Hey, he still has some turnaround potential there." Jayce pointed out with a shrug, "But honestly, he's never been good at battle strategy." He admitted.

"He could turn it around if he can manage to keep avoiding Draven." Darius stated, bored enough to entertain the other man with his insistent attempts to gain himself favor. "He's a clever boy, but Draven will catch on to his game soon enough."

"Ezreal can adapt just as easily." Jayce smiled slightly, "He figures out where his enemy expects him to go, or what he's expected to do, and he does something else." He stated, confident in his friend's abilities.

"Do you think he'll win?" Darius questioned. Jayce paused for a moment before answering.

"I think that if he can manage to set things up properly-" Jayce began.

"I didn't ask for a circumstance where he _could_ win." The Noxian stated; the two of them were trying to keep quiet, managing not to draw the attention of the other spectators. "With the way this battle is going right now, do you think he'll win?" He asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his brother in relentless pursuit of his target. The Defender fell silent, surely it was because he knew the hopelessness of the situation.

"It's not looking too good for him." Jayce admitted.

"How close would you say you are with him?" Darius had a point he needed to address, he had little patience for idle chit-chat.

"I'd say we're pretty good friends. Any reason why you're asking?" The brunet seemed unsure of why the Noxian would want to know about his personal friendships.

"Do him a favor." Darius began, "Tell him not to fight." The battle was only getting worse for Ezreal, who had been caught and killed once again.

"I beg your pardon?" It was clear that the Piltovian was questioning his intentions.

"When the battle is over." Darius explained, "Find him, and warn him." It was a message that needed to be made clear to the boy, for everybody's sake. "Tell him not to push his luck, and to keep his mouth shut. Tell him not to seek out my brother's wrath." Draven was vicious enough when he was fighting for fun, or for sport. When he was truly angry, he became murderous. Everything would be easier if a situation of Draven flying into a rampage was avoided. "He's already put himself in a terrible spot. He can avoid making it worse if he chooses to."

"So, are you telling me that your brother is going to hurt Ezreal?" Jayce asked for clarification, a look of displeasure spreading across his face. The Demacian girl took her leave from the spectating room, muttering to herself that she couldn't stand watching Ezreal get hurt and not being able to help him.

"It's inevitable that he will." He answered. "I figure he would be more likely to listen to a warning from a friend than one from me."

"Does that mean you're asking for my help?" The brunet kept questioning him, it was tiring to have to speak so much. The Noxian put up with the near interrogation; he needed Jayce to cooperate with him.

"For lack of a better term, yes." He stated. "It's for his sake, and my brother's."

"I'll pass the message along, then... Under one condition." Jayce proposed a deal, as the Gem Knight left the spectating room with a sigh. From what he could tell, the others hadn't heard their conversation; the spectating room allowed enough space for them to have privacy if they kept quiet enough.

"What would that be?" Darius asked, willing to come to some sort of compromise with the other man. Lucky for him, Jayce had a mind for negotiating and was open to being reasoned with - unlike others, who would never dare be open to having a civil discussion with a Noxian. His people were treated harshly by others, which was nothing new to him; even Noxians treated each other like filth.

"Look out for him." He fully expected such a request. "Make sure your brother doesn't take things too far. Fair enough?" Perhaps the value of one mere warning compared to two months of looking after a child made for an unfair trade, but he would take it. After all, he wouldn't have to watch the boy too closely, just prevent any particularly harsh injuries. He could only do so much. If Draven chose to beat the poor child while he wasn't present, he could hardly be held responsible.

"Fair enough." Darius answered with a tone of agreement. Ezreal had lost another turret to Draven, it was nearly painful to watch him fight; the boy was a competent fighter, even if he was hilariously inexperienced, but he had fallen too far behind to recover. He understood why the boy's friends couldn't stand to watch him any more. Jayce only seemed to stay around because he had something more to say, something he was trying to find the right words for. He waited in silence for whatever else the man needed.

"Listen, I know Ez can seem a bit hard to approach because of the whole 'I hate Noxians' thing..." Jayce began, causing Darius to scoff. At that point, the Summoner had left the room quietly.

"His spite is nothing. I've seen far worse." It was the truth; the former nobility of Noxus were all particularly snobbish when it came to the wealth and power they hadn't earned. He found that an axe in the chest was great for teaching them their true place in the world.

"Well, anyway, he's a nice kid." The Piltovian said with some small regret in his voice, "I really don't want to see him get hurt over something stupid like this."

"What exactly are you asking of me?" Darius questioned, as the Piltovian ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out. The man's vanity was amusing, but nothing compared to his brother's.

"I'm asking you to protect him when he needs it." Jayce answered, finally getting to the point. "I know you need to give Draven some freedom to do... Whatever it is he plans to do. Please, just... Take care of him for me."

"I'll do what I can." He said promisingly. He wasn't entirely sure of how much he could do for the poor boy, but he would honor his end of the agreement. Draven needed to be kept in line, and Jayce seemed to think Ezreal needed a protector. Essentially, they were the same job. "I'll do what I can to warn him myself, but I doubt he'll listen to me."

"I understand." Jayce acknowledged, "I uh, I agree with Miss Crownguard, though. I don't really think I can watch this anymore." He admitted. "I'll warn him when I see him." He nodded and made a noise of understanding, listening as the other man's footsteps retreated, leaving him in silence and solitude.

* * *

The Piltovian only sank deeper into a pit of hopeless struggle. He was losing, he was down five turrets, he'd wasted valuable time being dead. He struggled to take a breath; Draven's hand was wrapped firmly around his throat. The Noxian no longer seemed vengeful, he knew he'd proven his point, he only seemed to pursue the helpless boy because he took pleasure in watching the desperate gleaming in his eyes, the fear that poisoned his body every time they crossed paths. He closed his eyes and waited, counting the seconds from one to ten in his head, hoping the man would be too bored to drag out his death, hoping he'd simply be killed quickly.

"Heh. What's wrong, blondie?" Draven asked, chuckling to himself. "You know, maybe less people would mistake you for a guy if you didn't wear clothes like that." Ezreal's eyes snapped open, he glared up at the Noxian.

"Excuse me?!" Ezreal barked, suddenly brought to violent struggling. "I'm not a girl!" He cried out in anger. Reaching up, he managed to tear the Noxian's hand off of his neck, surprising both of them. Draven smiled slightly, almost impressed with the boy. It was all a joke, he knew Ezreal wasn't really a girl, but he also knew how touchy the Piltovian was about the subject. It was entertaining to watch him get riled up over nothing.

"You know, I heard they're signing up some new guy to the League. Some gunslinger with a tragic backstory." He mentioned casually, reaching forward and grabbing Ezreal by the hair, tossing him to the ground lazily.

"What are you doing?" Ezreal questioned, confused. A grunt was forced from him as the Noxian kicked him in the side, a dirtied leather boot hitting him square in the ribs.

"Gotta kill you, don't I?" Draven pointed out, "It would be nice to have another guy to face off against in bot lane." Weakly, Ezreal fought back, grabbing onto the Noxian's ankle as he swung at him again. "I mean, it's just me and Gr- unh!" Ezreal kicked at Draven's other foot, knocking him to the ground. "Damn, good move, kid." Draven chuckled, almost seeming genuine as he complimented the Piltovian. "Anyway, it's just me and Graves right now." Draven sat up on his knees, throwing his weight forward and swinging a fist at the blonde, punching him across the face. "And the Ionian, I guess." He placed his weight down on his other hand to keep himself from falling on the Piltovian.

"You remember his name but not mine?" Ezreal growled, turning his face towards the Noxian again. Draven was in an odd position, partially on top of him. Ezreal tucked his knees up to his torso, kicking out at his enemy, hitting him in the chest forcefully and managing to push the man away from him.

"Hey, I drink with the guy sometimes. Maybe I'd remember your name if you weren't fourteen and could go to a bar after a fight." Draven nearly wheezed, landing on his side. He straightened himself quickly. "I just feel bad, beating up a bunch of women and animals, y'know?" He laughed as Ezreal shot him a glare, and a blast from his hand. "It would be nice to have a new drinking buddy." Draven stood over the blonde, casually whirling one of his axes around.

"Are you even taking this seriously?" Ezreal questioned, unsure of how the other could act so casual. Then again, Draven was faring far better than him in their fight.

"Not anymore. Was I supposed to be?" He had a point. It was obvious which one of them had the advantage. "Before I kill you again, how old are you, kid?"

"Why do you care?" The Piltovian hissed as he got back onto his feet. The Noxian shrugged his shoulders, throwing an axe. He had snagged the boy's scarf, pinning him to a tree behind him with his weapon. "Stop messing around and kill me." Ezreal groaned, more out of exhaustion than from anger. Getting brutally slaughtered over and over again grew very boring, very fast.

"Come on, answer the question." Draven urged, as the blonde wrestled out of his scarf. "Why do you even wear that thing? It's not going to give you any advantage in battle."

"Neither is wearing some dumb leather harness and no shirt." Ezreal pointed out, "Or whatever that thing is." The Noxian smirked, tossing his other axe, hitting the boy's shoulder.

"You're starting to annoy me again." He stated, stepping forward and pulling his axe out of the stump it was lodged in. "So, you gonna tell me or do I have to force it out of you, when you're officially my humble servant?" The blonde reached his shooting arm up again, as if to fire. The Noxian laughed, grabbing him by the wrist and moving the Piltovian's arm into a different position, pointing away from him.

"Seventeen." Ezreal grumbled. He was backed up into a wall, there was nothing he could do to stop his attacker. "I'm seventeen." Draven hummed in thought.

"Weird. Thought you were younger." He remarked, checking the small map mounted to his wrist. Draven let out a sigh of boredom, pushing the blonde aside and setting off for one of his lanes. Ezreal stood in his place for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Where are you going?" Ezreal questioned, voice dripping with confusion.

"I've got shit to do, kid." Draven shrugged, not bothering to look at him. "Sorry, Blondie, but you're not too high on my list of priorities right now." He laughed to himself. "If you really want to die, you can follow me. I don't care." He could hear the boy growling his frustrations behind him. It was the truth; he had a lane to take care of, and he would kill the Piltovian again if he had to.

He fought through a small swarm of minions uninterrupted, he could only assume the kid had decided to play things safe and heal up at his base. It couldn't hurt to push the lane, maybe take another turret if he had the time. His feet sunk ever so slightly into the dirt and grass beneath him as he walked along, leading his small army of minions with a confident sway to his steps. More minions, there were always more minions to kill. He disposed of them quickly, stepping up to another one of the blue turrets, hacking away at it. Ezreal wouldn't dare try to stop him, he knew he was safe, and all was well.

_**BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

"No surprise there." Draven joked to himself, pausing for a moment as his minions advanced. Could he take another tower? He checked his map quickly. The boy was too busy fighting off minions; it was lose one of his turrets, or another. Draven smiled, victory was close enough for him to reach out and grab it. He'd drawn out the match long enough as it was, he could end it all quickly and easily. Axes spinning, he continued on. There was no point in making the boy wait for his defeat any longer, he threw his axes a bit faster than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ezreal approaching him again.  
"Too late, Blondie." He said, nearly apologetic. It was embarrassing for him to have to watch how terribly the boy was doing. He ignored the Piltovian's presence, continued cutting down the tower.

_**BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN**** DESTROYED**_

"Ugh, no, damn it!" Ezreal shouted at him, voicing his frustration. Draven turned his attention towards the blonde, throwing an axe his way, watching as the foolish child raised his arm in an attempt to shield himself, listening to a cry of pain as the blade merely sliced into the flesh instead.

"Are you going to try to fight me again, or are you going to be a good boy and walk back to your base to watch me win?" He questioned, as his axe returned to him. He held his weapons in a ready stance, more than prepared to put the Piltovian in his place for the eighth time. Ezreal groaned, firing at the Noxian, although it hardly seemed like he was trying to fight back. Draven sighed, stepping to the side slightly, throwing another axe. It only took a few more hits before the blonde was running again. He allowed the boy to escape, returning his attention to his goal. He began throwing his axes again.

_**BLUE TEAM'S INHIBITOR HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

It was over. Everything was over for Ezreal; he'd lost, he'd been bested by Noxian scum. Of course he had. He had no idea how real battles went, his only knowledge of war strategy was borrowed information from Summoners. Soon he'd be forced to answer the man's every whim, fulfill whatever orders he received, no matter how strange or disgusting. He dreaded being a servant to somebody he barely wanted to breathe the same air as.

_**BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

He stood and watched; he was already doing as he was told, backing down and giving up on his resistance, and it disgusted him to think he'd practically handed Draven his victory. Might as well have polished it and delivered it to him on a silver platter. His hands clenched into fists as he watched - he hated even looking at the Noxian. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palms, he ignored the pain of it.

_**BLUE TEAM'S TURRET HAS BEEN DESTROYED**_

No more. He wouldn't bow down for the sake of fulfilling somebody else's sick need for dominance. He'd lost the battle, but he'd keep fighting the war even if it killed him. His hands were clenched so tight that they trembled from the tension in his muscles. Draven glanced over to him and smiled with smug satisfaction. He could taste the foulness of bile rising in his throat. He'd rather die than lose his dignity.

_**BLUE TEAM DEFEAT**_

He vowed never to surrender himself to a Noxian.

* * *

"That wasn't a fair fight!" Ezreal barked at the Noxian, stepping towards him, his hands balled into fists. "You cheated somehow, you Noxians are all liars and bastards!" Quite the bold accusation, and nothing more than a falsehood. The two stood outside the summoning chambers, in a hallway, facing each other with threatening poses. The Piltovian had managed to anger the Noxian yet again, with his defiance and insults.

"Come on, I won, now you owe me, you little brat!" Draven hissed at him, grabbing him by his wrist and dragging him along. Ezreal struggled against the older man, digging his heels in as he pulled back, straining to wrench his arm free from the man's grasp. He swung his free arm with a fist, desperate for any way to fight back. The blonde cried out in a panic as Draven caught his fist, twisting his arm, threatening him with the pain.

"Let go of me!" Ezreal demanded, unwilling to accept his defeat. Draven only laughed, dragging the boy closer to him, watching his useless struggles with amusement.

"Fine, kid." Draven grinned, releasing the boy's arms, moving a hand quickly and pressing forcefully against the Piltovian's forehead, pushing him back. The blonde stumbled, forced off his balance, hurdling backwards from the momentum, a loud clanging sound as his head made contact with a wall of metal behind him. Ezreal sunk to the floor, too dazed from the head injury to try to regain his footing. He could have sworn there wasn't a wall behind him a moment ago.  
"Darius, could you help me out? He's fighting too much." He heard the man ask. Ezreal leaned back; it certainly wasn't a wall behind him. He turned his head up to the Noxian's less famous, less arrogant brother. The blonde watched as the other axeman crouched down, groaning his protest as the man picked him up off of his feet as if he were a small child who refused his bed time.

"How do you figure I should carry him?" Darius questioned, handling the small body with some uncertainty.

"I don't know, over the shoul- actually maybe not with the armor on..." Draven shrugged, "I don't know, like one of your conquests?" He suggested, as he began to make his way off.

"I'm assuming you want him in your room." Darius stated.

"Yeah, I'll be there soon." Draven answered, as the older brother adjusted his grip on the boy's body. Darius sighed, carrying the blonde off to his destination, ignoring the boy's soft whining of disagreement. The Piltovian squirmed and fought weakly against the Noxian, encouraging the man to hold him tighter, arms constricting around him.

"Don't fight." He growled, "I'd like for you to arrive conscious, but I can change that easily." He stated. The boy groaned, defeated, settling for merely grumbling his frustrations.

"I can walk, you know." Ezreal protested, his gaze falling to the floor.

"Don't speak." Darius ordered with a firm tone. Ezreal frowned; he couldn't exactly disagree with the man, who carried him as if his weight was nothing, barely an effort to him. The Noxian carried him around a corner, taking a few more steps before stopping, placing the blonde down on his feet. "Keep up." He demanded. "Unless you want me to carry you again." He stated, watching over his shoulder as the blonde followed behind him, surprisingly obedient to him. Turning his face forward again, the Noxian led the boy to his brother's room.

"You really trust me not to run off?" Ezreal questioned. His knees felt close to caving in beneath him again, he was no longer sure if it was because he was nervous around the Noxian, or because he was worn out from his fight.

"You're not stupid." Darius answered, "You know I'd be able to catch you if you tried anything." He stated, as he stopped outside of Draven's room. "Don't you?" He questioned, turning his head towards the blonde, who frowned up at him.

"I've seen what you can do." Ezreal stated, "Read about it, heard about it..." He shrugged, trying to shake off his weariness.

"Experienced it." Darius added in as he unlocked the door; Draven trusted him with a spare key to his room, the two of them were lucky enough to be on good terms with each other, unlike some of the siblings within the League. He held the door open and watched the Piltovian step inside, shutting the door behind him. He scowled at the boy, who returned the gaze with some confusion.

"Did I do something to piss you off?" Ezreal questioned, genuinely wondering what he could have done to warrant such a displeased stare from the Noxian.

"I told you not to underestimate him." Darius stated in a low growl, unamused that his words had gone ignored, yet not surprised, considering the boy's childish arrogance.

"So you _were_ warning me." Ezreal stated, raising an eyebrow, as if questioning the man's motives.

"Anybody who walks into such a stupid deal with my brother deserves a warning." Darius shook his head, denying whatever ridiculous reasoning the blonde thought he had for cautioning him. "Do not mistake me, boy. I couldn't care enough to deceive you." He stated. Ezreal opened his mouth, nearly spewing out a mockery of the man before he caught himself, holding back for a moment. Was it really necessary, did Darius deserve the sting of his words?

"I thought it was more like you didn't have the capacity." He chimed, causing the man to sigh with exhaustion.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to mock the brother of a man you owe your service to for the next... How long did you agree on?" He questioned, shaking his head, remarkably patient, knowing he hardly needed to deliver any form of punishment to the boy; Draven would surely give him enough Hell on his own, it would be near cruelty if he worsened it. "Two months, right? Weren't you the one who suggested the time be increased?" He went on, teasingly. Ezreal growled, glaring up at the older man, who towered over him.

"Why do you care? I made that deal with him, not you." Ezreal hissed, clearly upset by his loss, his pride wounded.

"Listen to me, and listen well." Darius began, staring down at the boy. "Get rid of that arrogant attitude before my brother gets here. You can't win a competition of egos with him." He stated with a tone of warning, "If you want to make this all easier on yourself, just agree with him. Don't bother defying him unless you want a bloody nose and a bruised eye." Ezreal frowned, silent for a minute as he processed the information he'd been given.

"I'm never going to bow down to somebody like him." Ezreal hissed, trying to remain calm in front of the Noxian; it was a difficult task, the man's stature was enough to intimidate anybody who knew when they ought to be afraid. Darius shook his head.

"I understand you don't want to feel inferior." Darius stated.

"You don't know anything about m-" Ezreal began.

"_Nobody_ wants to feel helpless." He cut in, "I never claimed to know anything about you."

"Then stop-"

"Enough arguing!" Darius demanded, raising his voice as a scowl distorted the features of his face. The Piltovian fell silent, he crept back in fear he didn't know he was feeling. "I don't care what insecurities you have, boy." He stated, "I've been around Draven his entire life, and I can assure you, while I know nothing about you, I know _everything_ about him." He took a breath, letting it out again, steadying himself. His harsh expression softened slightly. "You can't fight him. Not with weapons, not with words. He'll always win. Make it easier on yourself and surrender to him." Ezreal watched the Noxian, who paced the room, his breaths controlled and nearly meditative.

"Why are you telling me all this?" His voice faltered as he spoke, his legs were still trembling beneath him. Darius glanced to the side, over to the blonde.

"It's inevitable that he'll take his anger out on you." Darius began, his voice having returned to a calmer, more subtly threatening tone. "He's going to hurt you plenty, I promise you that." He stated, "However, challenging his authority will only make it worse, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to fall victim to any _tragic accidents_, would you?" He questioned, emphasizing the words as an indication of an underlying meaning. Darius wasn't normally one to talk much, but the boy didn't seem to understand unless he went out of his way to explain the situation. "If you wind up dead, with an axe wound in your back, it's going to be difficult to cover up." He went on, "And if it can't be covered up, the blame will fall to him, and it'll reflect on me, tainting my reputation, and bringing the Grand General's judgment into question." Darius concluded. "Do you understand the risk here?" He asked, turning towards the Piltovian, who simply stared at him for a moment in contemplation.

"So... It's all politics?" Ezreal questioned with some hesitation.

"Yes." Darius answered, returning to short, straightforward answers. Ezreal was giving him some sort of bewildered look. "Did you think I had some other reason to warn you?" He asked curiously, quite humored by the boy's obvious confusion. Ezreal shrugged his shoulders in response. He was nearly regretting the deal he made with Jayce, the blonde was far too stubborn. The door swung open, revealing Draven and what one could only assume was one of his many loyal female fans.

"Get out." Draven demanded with a smile. His hand was placed on the girl's waist, it was quite clear what his intentions were. She giggled, giddy with excitement.

"You brought me here for nothing?" Ezreal questioned with a tone of annoyance.

"Yeah, I was gonna beat you up some more, honestly." Draven admitted, stepping into his room, his loyal fan still firmly attached to his side. "But I ran into this lovely young lady who told me she snuck in here just to watch me fight." She nodded, curls of chestnut hair bouncing around her, chiming in with another laugh that was far too high in pitch.

"Kinda makes you wonder what kind of security they have here." Ezreal remarked, rolling his eyes at the girl's ridiculous behavior. He heard a low chuckle next to him, apparently Darius agreed with his comment, or at least found it amusing.

"How rude." The girl remarked, forcing her voice to be 'sweet'. The Piltovian couldn't understand the appeal of somebody so obviously fake. "You have no right to talk, loser."

"Oh, I'd love to see_ you_ do better." Ezreal laughed, "Really, Draven, do you even _have_ standards?" He questioned.

"Hey, show the lady some respect." Draven demanded, pulling her closer. "And standards don't matter. I'm sharing the gift of Draven with the world. It's called charity, kid." He stated. Ezreal scoffed, shaking his head as he trailed out of the room.

"Whatever." He mumbled. Did she even realize Draven had practically insulted her? He doubted it.

"Hey, be here tomorrow morning." Draven called after him. "At ten." Ezreal could hear the other Noxian behind him, giving Draven his desired privacy to share his 'gift' with his desperate groupie. The blonde merely made a noise of confirmation as he walked off. He made his way for his own room, legs weak and moving along sluggishly, dragging slightly with every step. He'd lost. It wasn't a normal defeat where he could brush it off and forget about it the next day; he'd be reminded of his failure for a good two months, every time Draven asked something of him. He cringed at the thought, the possibilities.

Even worse, he'd be confined to the Institute, practically caged up like a helpless pet. The outside world that he'd grown so fond of would be nothing more than longing gazes out his window, like he was a lonely child in Piltover again. The thought of being contained was venomous to him; he needed the air, the grass beneath his feet, he needed to roam and get lost in the world just so he could find his way out again, coming back with an amazing story to tell of the wonders he'd beheld. The thought crossed his mind for a moment to simply run away, to abandon the world for two months and break off the deal he'd made. No, he couldn't, he wasn't the sort who'd cheat their way out just because the circumstances were against them. He frowned to himself, what other option did he have?

"Hey, Ez. Can I talk to you for a minute?" He heard, breaking him from his thoughts. Ezreal looked up, seeing a familiar face standing outside of his door.

"Jayce, what's up?" He asked casually, taking out the key to his room. He'd only seen Jayce a few times when he lived in Piltover, usually he was busy with politics or military issues. They'd become better acquainted during the time they'd spent fighting for the League, going from near strangers to close friends over the course of one or two battles. It was nice to have somebody to talk to when he saw them.

"I saw your match. You did pretty good." Jayce complimented, as the lock clicked open. Ezreal stepped into his room, turning the light on and frowning at the barely-used space.

"I did terrible. You don't have to compliment me just because we're friends, y'know." He waved off the flattery, he didn't deserve it. Jayce followed him inside, glancing around.

"You don't stay here often, do you?" Jayce remarked with a smile, teasing gently. "Okay, so you didn't do great, but I'm sure you've heard the Summoners talk about countering, right?" He questioned. Ezreal hummed his conversation, pulling out a chair for himself. "Well, Draven counters you. It's not your fault, you just don't really do well against him."

"He knew that, didn't he?" Ezreal questioned, pulling at the belts that held his boots on.

"Probably did, yeah." Jayce remarked, causing the blonde to frown as he removed his footgear. Ezreal looked up, an expression of understanding on his face, which morphed into resent.

"Damn it!" He nearly shouted. "He knew the whole time that he would win!" Jayce held in a sigh, stepping over to his friend. He was young, he needed to let his anger out sometimes, that much he understood. "And he played me, he let me think I had a chance, filthy Noxian _scum_!" Ezreal growled, holding his face with his hands. "I should have know he had something planned."

"Ez, don't beat yourself up over this." Jayce frowned, placing a hand on the blonde's shoulder. Ezreal pushed his arm away; he needed his space, he needed time to reflect and probably tell himself what an idiot he was.

"Listen, I know you're not here to tell me how bad I did, so could you get to the point?" He questioned, his breaths taken deeper in an attempt to steady himself.

"Okay, well... Be careful, alright?" It was as good of a time as any, he figured, and he gave his word to Darius to deliver a warning. "Draven's not going to take it easy on you." He explained, as the blonde peeled out of his jacket. "So try not to make things any harder on yourself than they need to be."

"You're the second person who's told me this today." Ezreal remarked, leaning back in his chair.

"For good reason." Jayce stated, "Nobody wants to see you get hurt, Ez."

"Is that all you wanted, Jayce?" The blonde questioned, fiddling with one of the belts around his waist.

"Yeah. I'll leave you alone now." The other Piltovian answered, ruffling the younger's hair playfully. "Get some rest." He smiled, taking his leave. Ezreal heard the door closing as his friend left. It wasn't as if he didn't appreciate Jayce, he simply needed space. Most of the problems he had when he was younger were ones he had faced alone; he didn't have a great amount of friends, his parents were always busy with their work. He knew people like Jayce were only concerned for him, but he found their attempts to help, more often than not, simply cluttered his mind. His problems were all easier to sort out when he had time and space to think about it by himself, so he could understand everything on his own and learn how to put things into their proper places.

The problem at hand, the Draven problem, was all a mess to him. Nothing made sense, there were too many possibilities, everything was a blur. Maybe he simply wasn't in the proper state of mind to be dissecting his issues. His muscles nagged at him from the stress he put them under; the healing powers of the Nexus could fix broken bones and open wounds, yet simple bruises or muscle strains were - for some stupid reason - mostly left untended. He held his hand over one of his many injuries, closing his eyes and concentrating. He knew some healing magic, he used it in his battles before, until some of the more powerful Summoners had decided it didn't make sense for a fighter to be healing his team mates. Personally, he thought Taric was a better healer, but he couldn't ask him for help at the moment.

He sighed as he gazed at his empty room. Everything was a complicated mess inside his head. He needed his rest, there was no doubt of it. Ezreal pulled himself to his feet, crossing over to his bedroom. He'd sort it all out in the morning, he assured himself as he stripped out of his clothes. Too lazy to change into his bed clothes, he fell onto the mattress, crawled up to his pillow, and curled slightly, yawning as he grabbed the blanket and folded it over himself. He was dreading tomorrow already.

* * *

_And now back to work on writing, lest I feel the wrath of starving reviewers. Hope it was enjoyed, and any reviews are always appreciated._


	4. Puzzle Pieces

_After a few delays (personal life issues including three separate days where, for one reason or another, I did not have access to my writing) I'm back. I know one of you asked for a rough estimate of when I can get updates out, and the answer is still around one or two weeks. I'm doing what I can to get an update out once a week, but this week had some bumps in the road. If I don't update within a week, don't worry about it. I may just be having a delay, but I will get the update out._

_Anyway, the pace is picking up slowly so far, and Ezreal gets smacked around a bit. Draven touched a girl and I have no idea what Darius is doing. Taric gets mentioned casually and nobody is surprised. Things will get rolling at some point soon, I promise._

_**Chapter Four: **Puzzle Pieces  
**Word Count:** 5,600_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Darius_  
_**Pairings:** None_  
_**Warnings:** Not-so-mild violence, somebody might say one bad word somewhere_

* * *

Draven smiled, letting out a quiet yawn as he stretched his arms out. The early morning light seeped in through his window, he climbed out of bed and dressed himself, relaxed from last night's pleasurable company. Looking over to the girl he'd shared his bed with, she was still asleep. He glanced over at a clock he kept, reading the time quickly. Half past nine. The kid would be arriving soon, if he didn't bail like the coward he was. Draven reached over to his company, shaking her by the arm gently, rousing her from sleep.

"Hey, babe, wake up." Draven muttered to her, as she wiped at her eyes. She smiled up at him, as if he'd made some dream of hers come true; then again, he probably had. "Listen, I'm expecting some company, I need you to go home, alright?" He said, his voice gentle, almost caring. She nodded in understanding, sitting up straight, wearing nothing but a bedsheet. The Noxian reached down, grabbing her clothes from the floor and passing them to her. "Come back here some time, maybe we can do this again." He offered with a smile. She wasn't the worst he'd bedded, it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience if she paid him another visit.

"Y-you were really good..." She complimented as she pulled her clothes on, her face flushed as she recalled last night's events. He was generous in bed, when he felt like it, and he ate up the praise like it was the very nectar of life.

"Yeah, I know." Draven bowed his head slightly, helping the girl to her feet. He couldn't quite remember her name, not like he'd need to know it. She slipped into her shoes, and he led her towards the door, guiding her through his room and out into the hall. "Have fun in... Wherever you're going." He sent her off with those words, she giggled, thinking he was joking as he shut the door behind her. He barely remembered anything she'd told him the night before, only remembered how she called his name when he touched her; he smiled in remembrance. He loved it when they said his name, a confirmation of how amazing he was.

He took a seat and waited, only for a minute before he remembered something. Standing up again, the Noxian returned to his bedroom, approaching a wooden box that sat in the corner. Lifting the lid of it, he dug through a sea of fabrics; leftovers from his past one-night stands. It was in there, somewhere, he knew it was. Shifting around, his hand found it buried between silks, furs, and cashmeres. Fingers closed around a strap, he pulled the garment out and shut the box, wrapping up the small belt in circles around his hand. A steady knock banged on his door.

"It's open." He called out, strolling back to the main room. The door swung open, revealing his prize from winning his bet with the Piltovian; his new servant, looking moodier than ever. "Hey, look at you, early and eager." He laughed, causing the boy to frown even deeper. "Couldn't resist me, huh?"

"You set me up." Ezreal growled. Draven looked the boy over; gone were the twenty or so needless belts the boy usually wore. His hair was a mess, as usual, and he nearly seemed to have dressed for the occasion, sacrificing his odd sense of fashion for the sake of working.

"Yeah, I did. Did'ya just figure that out right now?" Draven questioned with a mocking tone, "I knew you had no chance of winning, kid. I thought_ you_ knew it, too." He admitted with a shrug, "And I knew if I wounded little Edward's precious pride, he'd agree to fight me."

"Edward?" Ezreal asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"You. Whatever your name is." Draven answered, "Anyway, I'm starting to think you wanted this." He laughed, "Did you? I mean, if you wanted to be my apprentice or whatever, you could have just asked." Ezreal growled.

"First of all, you were closer when you called me 'Ezra'." He pointed out.

"Don't care." Draven sighed, allowing the boy to go on.

"Second of all, I would never willingly spend time with you." The blonde stated so surely.

"But you did. For half an hour. Last night." Draven remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why would I _ever_ want to be in the company of some filthy Noxian _murderer_ who tricked me into making a stupid bet with him just so he could have me follow around and listen to his superiority complex for two months?" Ezreal questioned, his voice raised. Draven smiled slightly.

"I think that's enough." He stated, stepping forward quickly. "You had your temper tantrum. Feel better?" He asked, a mere two feet away from the boy.

"Shut up." Ezreal hissed. The Noxian's smile cracked into a full grin, he reached back quickly and struck the boy firmly across his cheek, backhanding him with a harsh blow. Blonde locks covered his face as his head whipped to the side from the force of the impact. A soft whine rang in the boy's throat as the pain emerged.

"You're gonna have to learn how to keep that mouth shut when you're expected to." Draven remarked, unwrapping the belt around his hand. "Like it or not, kid, you're mine for the next two months. Make this easier on yourself and get used to it."

"You tricked me." Ezreal muttered.

"You fell for it." Draven pointed out, as the Piltovian righted himself, facing forward again. "Or did you?" He asked, "I'm still not convinced." He chuckled.

"I told you, I'd never want to be around you." Ezreal spat out, "You disgust me." Draven chuckled, flicking the belt in his hand at the boy's arm, whipping at him quickly. Ezreal winced, flinching as the leather bit at his bare skin, cursing himself for not wearing his jacket.

"Come on, I just showed you what happens when you talk back like that." The man sighed, beginning to pace around. "You a masochist or something?"

"No." Ezreal answered, scowling.

"Damn, we could have made this fun." Draven laughed, the Piltovian wasn't sure if he was joking. "You can't fool me, kid. Everybody loves me. Some of you are just playing hard to get." Ezreal held in another retort. He didn't feel like getting hit again. "Now then, onto our first order of business." Draven turned towards the boy, walking up to him again. "Get on your knees." He demanded. Ezreal paused, staring at the Noxian with bewilderment.

"Um..." Ezreal blinked, his brow knitting together with a confused expression.

"Oh come on, we've been alone for five minutes and your mind is already in the gutter?" Draven questioned, "Calm down, I know I'm irresistible, but that's not what I wanted."

"What?! I wasn't thinking about that!" Ezreal protested with a whine. Draven laughed.

"You're too easy to aggravate, you know that, right?" Draven questioned, "I'm just teasing you." He assured. "Really though, on your knees." Ezreal frowned, but did as he was told, sinking to his knees quietly. He placed his hands on the ground, unsure of what to do. "Tell me, what did you learn last night?"

"That you're a liar and a cheater." There it was again, the boy's stupid defiance. Draven lifted his foot slightly, drawing back and kicking the boy in his side, enough to hurt him, but not quite at his full strength.

"I never told you that you were going to win. I withheld the truth from you, I didn't bother to tell you that I knew how much of an advantage I had." He reminded, watching as the boy squirmed in pain. "Is that lying? Does being a better fighter equal cheating?" He questioned. Ezreal remained silent, his mouth pulled into a frown. "That's what I thought. Let's try again." He proposed, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you learn last night?" He repeated the question.

"That you use women who don't know how terrible you are." He didn't hesitate, merely struck the boy with his foot again, kicking at his ribcage with a bit more force.

"You sure you're not a masochist?" Draven asked again, although the humored tone was missing from his words. "What did you learn last night?"

"That you're cruel!" He cried out, reaching up to clutch at his side, which protested its pain. Draven stared down at the Piltovian for a moment, hesitating to strike him again. He decided against it.

"I can be." He shrugged. "But that's not it. What did you learn?" He repeated for the fourth time, absentmindedly twisting his hair around his fingers.

"When are you going to stop asking me that?" Ezreal wondered out loud. The Noxian placed his foot, with the boot and all, atop the hand that remained on the floor, putting pressure down on it.

"When you tell me what I want to hear." Draven answered, putting more pressure down on the boy's hand, who cringed ever so slightly.

"What do you want me to say?" The blonde asked with a hiss, his eyes still shining with bitter anger. The Noxian only delivered more weight down onto the blonde's hand, hearing the boy choke on a gasp, unable to suppress a shiver. "_Please_, just tell me what you want me to do!" He begged, no longer spiteful, only desperate. The boy was beginning to understand, but he couldn't let up; he needed to reinforce the lesson.

"Tell me why you lost." Draven requested quite simply, taking his weight off of the Piltovian's hand, which burned a bright red. Ezreal let out a noise of relief, pulling his hand away from the floor gingerly.

"Because I was an idiot." Ezreal spat out, "B-because I'm a bad fighter." He was so quick to turn weak, he cursed himself for giving into the pain the man caused him.

"It's not about you, kid." Draven reminded him, taking a few steps around the boy. "It's about _me_." He stated, "Why did you lose to _me_?" Carefully, Ezreal tried to heal himself, hoping the man wouldn't notice. Only enough to dull the pain, so he wouldn't raise any suspicion.

"Because you..." Ezreal began, his voice weak. "You're better than me." Draven smiled.

"That's right." The Noxian nearly praised him, laughing to himself. "See, this doesn't have to be bad if you just listen to me." He remarked. "Moving on." Draven continued. "Second order of business..." He reached down, wrapping the leather belt around the blonde's neck, pulling it tight and buckling it. Ezreal reached up, touching the strap around his neck timidly.

"What is this?" Ezreal questioned, turning his head to glance at the Noxian with confusion. Draven reached down, sliding his fingers between the leather and the boy's skin, pulling him to his feet by the new hand-hold.

"What do you _think_ it is?" Draven asked with a snort. "It's a collar." He stated. Ezreal paused, his mind still processing his pain.

"Why do you have a collar?" The Piltovian have the Noxian a suspicious look.

"For people like you." Draven answered, "Masochists who like to play slave." He laughed as the blonde made another angry face at him. "Don't say anything, it's just a joke."

"This is ridiculous." Ezreal groaned his protest. He was a servant, sure, but was a collar really necessary? It seemed more like a weak excuse for a fantasy fulfillment.

"Quit your bitching, this is me being nice to you." The Noxian scolded him, turning his head as he heard another knock at his door. The blonde frowned, touching the leather belt around his neck with care; the new weight around his neck was strange and uncomfortable, something about having a restraint around such a delicate, vulnerable part of him made his spine tingle. Ezreal watched as Draven answered his door, pulling him along behind. Darius was there, no surprise to him. He tuned out the conversation in favor of devising some sort of plan, some way he could manage to sever the bonds of their agreement. He stumbled as Draven tugged at the collar rather suddenly, his attention drawn back to the narcissistic Noxian.  
"Snap out of it, we're leaving." Draven demanded, pulling him out the door quickly. "Really need to find a leash." He said to himself, causing the Piltovian to frown.

"I'm not an animal." Ezreal protested, "And I'm not your slave, either." His eyes landed on the elder of the Noxian brothers, who returned the gaze, practically staring him down.

"You're a servant, same thing." Draven stated, releasing his collar. Ezreal kept up his pace, his eyes still kept on the Noxian. They exchanged glances; he wasn't sure why, but he found he was almost looking for something as he watched the man. Darius turned his face forward again, leaving the blonde to stare at him. There was something about him, he was sure of it - something the man was keeping silent and secret. He wasn't entirely sure if he was safe around Darius. At the very least, it seemed as though the elder of the two brothers was apathetic towards him, perhaps he even felt a sliver of sympathy for him.  
"You know your uh... '_Friend_' is totally in love with you, right?" Draven questioned him, calling him out of his thoughts, his eyes looking forward again.

"What? Who?" Ezreal questioned, terribly confused. "Lux?" He asked, sounding a bit too hopeful. Nearly everybody knew how he felt for the Demacian mage; they were friends, and he couldn't deny that he felt a unique comfort from her presence. Perhaps calling it 'love' was getting ahead of himself, but at the very least, he was fond of her.

"No, uh... Sparkles. Taric." Draven stated. "Although I'm pretty sure the lovely lady Lux likes you, too." He shrugged, "I'd stay away from her. Seems kinda crazy." He advised.

"Don't talk about her like that!" Ezreal barked, stopping in his tracks. Draven turned, stepping towards him and drawing an arm back quickly, the bone of his elbow jabbing against the middle of the boy's chest, where his ribs met. The Piltovian took a shaky breath, his muscles tensing from the impact. Draven stared at him for a moment before reaching out slowly, poking at his chest with his fingers.

"Do you have any muscle on you at all?" Draven questioned mockingly. He knew if he talked back, he'd only get hurt again; he settled for glaring silently at the Noxian. "Anyway, the point wasn't about your fangirl." The Noxian stated, "It was about Taric." Somehow, the Noxian's memory never failed him when it came to any name other than his. The man continued on his way down the hall.

"You think Taric is in love with me." Ezreal stated with disbelief. "That's just wrong." He shook his head; Taric was certainly 'unique', but he'd never considered the man anything other than his friend. "He's my_ friend_. He looks out for me. That's all there is to it."

"Oh, I'm _sure_." The Noxian laughed. Ezreal glanced over to Darius again, who seemed to care little about their banter, keeping his eyes turned forward and his mouth shut. "Listen, everybody knows that guy would only look at a woman if she was wearing something glittery." Draven pointed out, "And considering the amount of time he spends with you, and how protective he is over you..."

"It's not like that." Ezreal said quickly.

"But it is." The Noxian combed his fingers through his hair. Draven paused in thought, glancing over to his brother for a moment. "Is my hair deflating?" He asked, more concerned for his own appearance than for any conversation. Ezreal could tell the elder of the two was holding in his annoyance.

"Not much." Darius answered briefly. The Piltovian couldn't help but notice that the man's hair was indeed a bit less skyward than usual, nearly resembling his brother, aside from the length in the back.

"It's kinda flattening." Ezreal remarked, causing Draven to pause for a moment. Darius glanced back at the Piltovian, giving him a look of warning.

"Eh, I don't need to fix it." Draven stated as he picked his pace up again, his brother's expression changing to one of mild surprise. "Perfect looks perfect no matter what." An understanding; his narcissism kept him from caring that he didn't look exactly how he wanted. Ezreal rolled his eyes at the man's words; maybe he was guilty of arrogance, but at least he wasn't completely delusional.

"Where are we going?" Ezreal asked, watching as Draven looked at him over his shoulder for a moment.

"Where do you think? I just woke up and I need to eat." Draven answered. The Piltovian suddenly felt a bit silly for asking a question that he could have found the answer to easily. "You ask a_ lot_ of questions, Blondie." Draven remarked.

"Always have." Ezreal admitted quite simply. It was the truth, he had always been terribly inquisitive. His teachers either found it wonderful to have such an eager student, or tiresome to have to answer so many irrelevant wonderings.

"Don't get too comfortable with it." Draven advised him, "You're here to do everything I say without hesitation. You don't get to ask questions unless I allow it." He stated, reminding the boy of the mess he'd walked into. "You got that?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure." Ezreal answered with a hint of disdain. Maybe it would do him good, to learn to silence his need to know more. Still, the inevitable future of embracing the bliss of ignorance disheartened him. His curiosity was what got him the name he'd made for himself; he'd always questioned what he didn't know, and if he couldn't get an answer that satisfied, he found one for himself. The only options he had were to remain strong and do what he pleased at the expense of his health, or give in and admit his defeat at the expense of his dignity. He wondered to himself which one was more important to him.

Draven had led him to the dining hall, or rather, one of several dining halls. He often forgot that there was more than one; he only ever ate in the same room, if he did at all. It could only be assumed that there were separate halls to keep everybody in smaller, easier to manage groups, and perhaps to keep any arguments from breaking out. The thought of Prince Jarvan and Grand General Swain starting an all-out war in the middle of dinner was both frightening and amusing. Draven led him inside, taking a seat at the table. Ezreal stood behind him, unsure of what to do.

"What are you waiting for? Go get me something." Draven glanced at him, his tone expressing his impatience. The Piltovian could only frown, flinching as he felt a hand at his back. Ezreal looked for the source, turning his head the other way. Darius pushed him towards the kitchen gently; acting more like a guide than a force. It was odd, the touch left him with a sort of nervous sensation, but he put up with it. He walked through the doors to the kitchen, he stared at the arrangement of food that had been left out for the taking, completely oblivious as to what the Noxian would want.

"You didn't listen to me." Darius observed, taking a plate and going about his business. Ezreal shot the man a look of confusion; how could he have known? Did Draven brag to him about beating up teenage boys?

"How would you know?" Ezreal asked the only thing that came to his mind, still unsure of what to do. His eyes browsed the selection of meats, proteins, fruits, and other foods laid out. For a moment, he wondered who would be eating a cut of steak in the morning.

"Your arm and face. The marks are already showing." The Noxian explained easily, filling his plate. Apparently Darius enjoyed his steak in the morning, he discovered. "Tell me, what reason did you have for staring at me?" He questioned with amusement. It made sense, the Noxian was doing nothing more than looking him over to see if he'd already invoked Draven's wrath. Ezreal froze up for a moment, unsure of how to explain what exactly he had been doing before; he himself was not entirely sure what it was.

"I, um..." Ezreal struggled to come up with any sort of explanation. He stammered on a word, his face flushing from embarrassment. "I'm not sure." He admitted. "I don't know, I'm trying to figure something out." He shook his head. It was difficult, if not impossible to describe his own intentions when he didn't know what they were.

"And what would that be?" Darius pressed him for information, holding the plate he'd filled towards the Piltovian, who stared at it for a moment before taking it in his hands.

"I don't know. Whatever it is that I don't know about you." Ezreal blurted out the first thing that occurred to him to say, regretting it quickly. He'd only meant that he wanted to know what he needed to; whatever there was to know about his new situation, his agreement with Draven, that the Noxian could be withholding from him. It certainly sounded like he meant more than what he intended.

"There are many things you don't know about me. You'll learn very few of them." Darius informed him. At the very least, the man chose not to take the chance to mock him for sounding too interested in his life. Still, the Noxian's comment sparked the annoying little urge he had to be defiant simply for the sake of being defiant.

"You'd be surprised by how much I could find out about you." The Piltovian spoke before thinking about it, again putting himself in a strange spot. "I mean, my job is to find out about things... Sort of. Sometimes." He explained, as Darius grabbed another plate. "I found out a lot about Aatrox, didn't I?" He pointed out, still unsure of what to do with the plate he'd been presented. Darius rolled the thought around in his head for a moment; new Champions in the League were always a concern to him, as they should be to anybody. Learning the new threat's battle strategies and how to conquer them had always been a necessity for him.

"The Darkin? I suppose you did." Darius answered, wary of complimenting the boy. The fact that the Summoners had discussed putting the new Champion up against him only made it a higher priority to learn everything he could about them. He hadn't known the source of such in-depth reports before, but no part of him could deny that the knowledge the Piltovian had gathered was useful, if not vital to his goals within the League of Legends; domination and victory.  
"And if you wanted to gather information on me?" A self-indulging question. He had very little talent for subtle investigations himself, his only method to gather information on his own was to force it out of the mouths of terrified victims. If anything, he knew how to silently appreciate those who could accomplish what he could not.

"Well, lucky for me, I would be able to gather information on you much more reliably than what I went through with Aatrox." Ezreal started off. "With him, the information is spread out over centuries, if not millennia. A lot of old tomes and records that you can barely gain anything from." He explained one of his frustrations with ease, something he'd clearly suffered from on a number of occasions. "But when it comes to _you_, all the information I could ever gather on you would have been recorded no more than a decade or two ago." His eyes glazing over with an impassioned shine. "The hard part... The _fun_ part, is actually going out and getting the information." There was one thing Ezreal undeniably loved, and it was the visible history of architecture, or the lack of it. Old halls and libraries, foreign cities, decaying ruins of ancient civilizations, uncharted forests; the perfect playgrounds for a sheltered boy who had been handed the freedom to experience the outside world.

"Go on." Darius allowed the boy to continue, a part of him fascinated in the process.

"If I wanted to get the most accurate information I'd probably have to gain access to war journals from battles you participated in. On top of that it would help to have any records of your personal history within or outside of the military." The blonde went on, as the Noxian listened quietly, having finished filling his plate. "Finding out even a little piece of information can help me figure out more about you." He stated his methods. "And considering your position of power within the Noxian government, there's bound to be a good amount of accessible info on you." Ezreal paused for a moment, the light of enthusiasm fading from his eyes. Darius glanced over to the Piltovian, curious as to what could have caused his silence.

"You can speak a lot when prompted." Darius noted, as the blonde fidgeted where he stood.

"Yeah, I uh... Sorry. That was kind of stupid of me." The Piltovian had learned that very few people truly cared for his methods, finding them irrelevant, as long as he could get his job done. Darius began to walk towards the door to the dining hall.

"You're passionate about your work." Darius stated simply, as if attempting to reassure the Piltovian. "Give that plate to Draven and remember what I put on it. I won't be helping you again." He informed, as he walked through the door. Ezreal glanced down at the plate, taking a note of what had been stacked on it. He stepped back into the dining hall, carrying the plate of food carefully over to Draven, who drummed his fingers on the wooden table in front of him with a look of boredom plastered on his face. The Piltovian placed the Noxian's meal in front of him, regretting the fact that he hadn't spit in it before he'd delivered it. Draven glanced over to his brother with a look of suspicion.

"Did you help him?" Draven questioned, raising an eyebrow. Ezreal tensed up slightly, fearing another punishment was being dreamt up for him.

"I did." Darius answered, his face kept turned towards his food.

"Why?" Draven asked.

"No other way he'll learn." Darius answered with ease. Ezreal stood behind the two Noxians, unsure of what to do. Was he allowed to eat?

"Fine, just don't do it anymore." Draven demanded, causing the elder brother to make a noise of amusement.

"I'll do whatever I want with him." Darius stated, causing the Piltovian to frown silently. Surely the man wasn't serious. He tried to console himself; he didn't want Darius doing 'whatever he wanted' to him. The man had been questionably charitable towards him, and he had no doubt that a favor from a Noxian came with some terrible price.

"He's_ my_ servant." Draven shot back, taking a bite of his steak.

"I'm your brother." Darius challenged his authority. The Piltovian was impressed when the younger Noxian fell silent; apparently Draven could at least respect his brother. "Are you done arguing, then?" Darius questioned his brother. Did Darius truly intend to do anything with him, or was he simply asserting himself? Ezreal couldn't help but wonder, what was Darius' personal price for his charity?

"Yeah, sure, just don't go stealing my things." Draven complied with his brother, "I mean, you can borrow him if you really want." Ezreal held in a noise of disgust, settling for standing around with a scowl. Being spoken of like he was nothing more than a tool, something less than a person, something to be used and disposed of, all said right in front of him - it was nothing short of sickening, and it was all his own fault. The way he'd fallen for Draven's obvious, _painfully_ obvious trap, he might as well have walked up and begged the Noxian to enslave him.

What could he do to escape his mistake? Surely, a handshake wasn't a binding agreement. Then again, there had been witnesses, and as much as he knew Taric would cover the truth up for him, he knew that Darius wouldn't be so cooperative. He wasn't even entirely sure if the deal they'd made was legally sound; perhaps he could bring it up with some of the more powerful Summoners and get them to forcibly nullify their agreement. Still, something bothered him about the plan. He couldn't stand to be drowned in the Noxian's presence, but he'd given his word.

Cursing his sense of honor, he closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his head, trying to come up with some way he could make things easier on himself without breaking off his side of the agreement. He could always comply, play along with what Draven wanted, avoid getting into trouble. He could do what Jayce had told him - what Darius had told him. He opened his eyes, glancing over to the Noxian General. Perhaps it would be best for him to simply keep his mouth shut, but there was more in his mind to bother him. Everything about the situation was suspicious at best, it was a puzzle box missing too many pieces to make any sense of.

Draven stood, turning to him and shoving a plate of leftovers into his hands, nearly startling the Piltovian. Ezreal began to take the plate back to the kitchen, to the food disposal, without a second thought.

"You're not hungry?" Draven questioned, causing the blonde to stop in his footsteps, within the doorway.

"Well, I kind of am. I didn't know when I'm supposed to eat." Ezreal answered, causing the Executioner to laugh, his brother pushing past him carefully. "I didn't realize I'd said anything funny." The Explorer raised an eyebrow, confused.

"It's not really about _when_ you eat kid. You eat after I do." Draven stated, as Darius passed him by again.

"So why are you asking me if I'm hungry?" The blonde could only frown, unsure of what was causing the man's amusement. He caught the sound of Darius quickly muttering a farewell to his brother.

"Because you look like you're about to throw away your meal." The Noxian answered. Darius paused, his hand on the door, waiting to listen to what was happening. The Piltovian stared ahead for a moment, his mind processing what the man meant by his words. A look of disgust was painted on the boy's face.

"You're joking." Ezreal denied it; there was no way the man could hate him that much. "You want me to eat your table scraps? What do you think I am?!" the blonde questioned, his face heated with anger.

"A dog." Draven shrugged his response. The Piltovian found himself reminded of the weight on his neck; the leather collar that identified him as a lesser being. "Are you gonna eat or not? I'm not letting you have anything else."

"No, I'd _never._ You can put a collar on me, you could even put a leash on there, I don't care." The Explorer glared towards the Noxian; he'd be taught the price of his spite later. "This is too much. This is weird and unsanitary and degrading." Darius had since left the room, only the two of them remaining.

"That's the point, Blondie." The Noxian stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen, there are plenty of kids starving on the streets of Noxus who would_ kill_ for somebody else's table scraps." Draven explained casually, as if he'd forgotten that he was once among the gutter rats of Noxus. "I understand you have this whole fantasy dream world that you live in with Mommy and Daddy in Piltover, but let me tell you something; you aren't getting any special treatment from me." The Noxian explained, belittling him. "Welcome to the real world, kid. It's ugly, it's cruel, and it destroys privileged, entitled little brats like you every day."

"Yeah, well at least my parents didn't abandon me." Ezreal spit out the first thing that came to mind before entering the kitchen. In truth, he knew a small amount of personal information concerning Darius and Draven. One of the few things he knew was the fact that their parents were, for whatever reason, not present during their childhood. Perhaps it was cruel of him to bring up. He thought little of it, feeling it was justified. He dumped the scraps into the trash without hesitation. He'd rather starve.

* * *

_Ok but if Ezreal is going to be a mouthy little snot you cannot blame a short-tempered Noxian for getting angry with him. Anyway, I'll be back soonish with another update._


	5. Never Better

_A long overdue update, and I apologize wholeheartedly for not getting this done sooner. I've been terribly preoccupied (with gaming and also personal affairs) and it has consumed more of my time than I originally intended. There was also a point where I stupidly deleted a large portion of my work which I had neglected to make any back-up files for, I was not happy about rewriting it. I also apologize for a chapter shorter than what I wanted, but it's all I can manage right now, and it ended at a point I liked. Hopefully I didn't scare anybody into thinking I was never going to update again!_

_**Chapter Five: **Never Better  
**Word Count:** 4,700_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Taric, Darius_  
_**Pairings:** One-sided Taric/Ezreal implications I guess?_  
_**Warnings:** Not-so-mild violence, potty mouthing_

* * *

Draven was waiting for him by the door when he emerged from the kitchen. The Noxian had his arms crossed over his chest, the look on his face expressing no anger, no ill intentions. Ezreal's comment about the man's parents was one he was sure would earn him punishment, and yet the Noxian acted as though he hadn't said a word. It was unnerving, to put things mildly.

"You're really not going to eat? Not hungry?" Draven asked with a calm voice. Something about the quiet was far more frightening than hearing the man shouting at him.

"It's not that I'm not hungry." Ezreal answered, as the Noxian gazed down at his hands casually.

"You're just too proud of yourself to accept my charity, huh?" Draven asked, placing a hand on one of his own hips, his thumb hooking around an empty belt loop.

"Charity?" Ezreal repeated with bewilderment, "Nobody in their right mind could ever consider you charitable." Draven chuckled to himself, grabbing the blonde by his collar and pulling him around the dining table.

"Do you know what an executioner does, Blondie?" He questioned, stopping in front of the door leading to the hall. "They put down criminals." He stated, his words coated with condescension, "I'm talking sick bastards, men who killed just because it helped them get off a little. Murderers who were considered downright evil." He went on, remembering the names and crimes of his many victims, "People who caused so much pain, the judges decided they didn't even deserve to live on in solitary confinement." Ezreal had watched the Noxian as he spoke, he had a natural charisma that masked his self-obsession. He'd nearly fallen for the trap Draven was doubtlessly skillful with setting; gloating about his work, making people think he was some selfless hero.

"You only do it for the attention." Ezreal said, spitting out the words like he'd tasted something foul.

"I'm still doing the world a few favors, though, aren't I?" Draven asked, pushing the door open and dragging the blonde through it. "You're gonna have to get off your high horse some time, kid." Draven shrugged, leading him down the hall. "Your friends will worry about you if you get any twiggier than you are now. Especially Sparkles." He said it with a voice that implied his amusement.

"That's only because he's my friend." Ezreal insisted.

"Yeah, you really haven't seen the way he looks at you." Draven stated, as he turned the corner. "Hey, speak of the devil." He remarked to himself. He beckoned for the Piltovian to join him, watching the Gem Knight's back as he walked down the hall. Ezreal stood at the Noxian's side, staring ahead to his friend. "Go talk to him." Draven said with a demanding tone.

"And say what?" Ezreal asked, "I can't just walk up to him and say 'Taric, are you in love with me?'." The Explorer hissed at the Noxian.

"You're not going to." Draven said, "If you really don believe me about him-"

"I don't." Ezreal said quickly.

"Then I'll prove it to you." The Noxian smiled wickedly. Ezreal held in a sigh. "Go talk to him, compliment him, get flirty. Tell him how good he is at whatever he does. See where it goes."

"I can't do that." Ezreal groaned, shaking his head with embarrassment.

"But you have to." Draven stated, "It's an order." The Piltovian stared up at him with a look of frustration, but complied. The Noxian slinked back behind the corner, warching as the blonde trudged off after his friend. Ezreal quickened his steps, catching up to the brunet.

"Taric!" He called out, causing the man to turn his head, a look for relief on his face.

"Are you alright?" Taric asked immediately, looking the blonde over for any signs of injury. "Have you been hurt?" He questioned, frowning as he saw a red welt on the Explorer's cheek. The Piltovian could practically see the questions he was about to be bombarded with. "You have a mark on your cheek, I must heal you." The brunet said hurriedly, taking one of the blonde's hands in both of his own. "Please come with me so I can-"

"Taric, calm down." Ezreal forced a small laugh, giving his friend's hands a reassuring squeeze. "I'm fine, you don't need to heal me." He stated, as the Gem Knight released his hand.

"The bruise on your face tells me otherwise." Taric stated with genuine concern in his voice. "Please, if Draven is hurting you, we must inform the Summoners immediately." He requested. His tone was gentle, but something about it seemed very urging.

"It's not a bruise, it'll be gone by to tomorrow." Ezreal touched at his cheek, carefully stroking the spot where he'd been hit. He had lied to Taric; Draven put a lot of force into a simple slap. "And there's nothing the Summoners can do. I agreed to this, now I have to follow through."

"There must be a way. You do not have to be his slave." His worry was gleaming in his eyes.

"It's okay. I'll be okay. I promise." Ezreal said with a smile; he wasn't entirely sure if it was true. "Listen, I didn't come here to talk about this stuff." He stated, as if he could sense Draven's patience thinning.

"Really? Then what is it that brought you to me?" Taric asked, a bit reluctant to change the topic.

"I just wanted to talk to you." Ezreal smiled slightly, unsure of how to approach the subject he'd been given. "I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry for not listening to you." He apologized sincerely.

"Ezreal, you should have your thoughts focused on how you are going to deal with these circumstances, not on what has brought them about." Taric said gently, causing the blonde to shake his head.

"I know." The Piltovian gazed down at his shoes, wringing his hands. "I just couldn't get my mind off you." It seemed strange, to speak to his friend in such a way. Taric paused, equally unsure of how to respond to the words.

"Is there something you are trying to tell me?" The brunet asked, furrowing his brow. Ezreal looked up again.

"You've always looked out for me." The Piltovian stated, "You always took care of me when I was hurt." He spoke the truth, realizing it as he said it. "Even though I could have healed myself." He chuckled a to himself as he spoke.

"I am afraid I do not know what you are trying to tell me." Taric said with apology, looking down as he felt warmth brushing against his skin. Their hands had brushed quite intentionally.

"I'm just wondering, is there any reason why?" He asked, as the brunet grasped his hands gently, instinctually. "Why are you always taking care of me?"

"I take care of all of the people I am close to. That is what a friend is for, is it not?" Taric asked. He was beginning to understand what the blonde was asking.

"You do it for me more than anybody else." Ezreal stated. Acknowledging the fact that Taric was unusually kind to him caused him to understand it. "You really care about me, don't you?" He understood what Draven saw that made him think Taric cared for him as more than a mere friend.

"I believe I know what you are asking me..." The Gem Knight said slowly, "I cannot say I have ever thought of you as anything more than my friend." Ezreal held in a smile; he was right, of course. "But now that I think about it, I have never felt so strongly for any of my other friends..." A look of shock came over the blonde's face, he felt the man's hands squeezing his own gently.

"R-really?" Ezreal asked quietly, "You really mean that?" The Piltovian stepped closer.

"I do. I am very fond of you." Taric stated, one of his hands reached up to brush blonde locks away from a delicate face. "Ezreal, you are quite dear to me... I did not realize how strong my feelings were until now." He stated, his hand lingering on the young one's cheek.

"Taric..." Ezreal said, staring up at the man with disbelief.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Draven's voice called from down the hall. Taric stepped back, pulling away quickly, the two of them turning towards the Noxian. "I told you to be at my room by ten." He made up something to be angry about, striding over to his servant.

"I have to leave." Ezreal muttered to his friend. Taric nodded in understanding Draven reached out and grabbed the blonde by his collar, causing the Gem Knight to frown. Ezreal followed after the Noxian with an invisible weight upon his shoulders. Taking the boy down the hall, he waited until they were out of earshot before he spoke again.

"What did he say to you?" Draven asked, the gathered length of his hair moving and swaying with slight movements as he walked.

"He said he only thought of me as a friend." Ezreal stated, as the Noxian released him. He kept up the pace as he followed Draven down the hall. "... Until I brought it up." He added in, saying the words as if they made no sense to him.

"So I was right, wasn't I?" Draven asked, smiling. Ezreal fell silent, countless thoughts rushing through his mind.

"We're just_ friends_..." Ezreal said to himself, trying to deny what had been brought to light.

"He told you himself, he wants to hold your hand and give you pretty gems. What part of that didn't you get?" Draven asked. Ezreal wasn't entirely sure where he was being taken, it was unusual for him. He was ignoring his surroundings, too bothered by recent news to care for what was happening around him. "I mean, I at least understood why you didn't believe it when I told you, but he _confirmed_ it for you and you're still in denial?"

"He doesn't mean it like that, I_ swear_." The blonde insisted weakly. How could Taric simply have not known how he felt? He was always fully aware of his feelings; he knew how strongly he felt for Lux, and a handful of other girls he'd had silent crushes on over the years.

"Why is this such a big deal to you? Do you have some sort of problem with your friend having an interest in other men?" Draven asked, rather blunt, "I know you barely count as one, but still. The amazing 'City of Progress' sure raised some narrow-minded brats."

"It's not about that." Ezreal protested, causing the Noxian to laugh; it seemed as though everything was a big joke to him. He tuned out the sound of Draven rambling on about how he was supposedly in denial, trying to cover up something about himself.

Ezreal followed Draven down the hall, and he too was followed, by a cloud of his own confusion. It was all meant to be some joke for Draven's amusement, and yet it was terribly significant, terribly impacting. Taric was supposed to just laugh it off, they were only supposed to be friends. Everything about their friendship had been perfect as they were before. Would these newly discovered feelings Taric had get in the way?

The day went on and he could already hear the beginnings of whispers; workers and acquaintances alike murmuring their bewilderment. They would mutter their thoughts quietly to each other, wondering why he was following Draven around like a lost puppy, why he was taking every stupid order the Noxian could dream up with little protest. He'd told very few people about his deal with Draven, he hoped the truth would be kept contained within the group of people it had been entrusted with. Hope could only do so much, and in truth he expected the news to spread like wildfire. The Summoners loved to discuss far too personal information about their Champions with one another. For some odd reason, he seemed to be a popular topic when it came to personal interests and relations.

He nearly took Draven's orders with complete compliance, without realizing how easily he obeyed. His thoughts were troubling him, as they did more than anything else could. Too drained emotionally and mentally, he wasn't interested in disagreeing with Draven and his demands, so he fulfilled his orders. Energy was best conserved so he could focus himself. Clutter - it was all clutter. How could he fix his mistakes, clean up the mess he'd gotten himself into? What could he do about Taric and the new state of their relationship? Why wasn't Darius taking the easy opportunity to treat him just as savagely as his brother did? How long could he keep starving himself before he had to give in and accept his meals in the form of table scraps?

The Piltovian was reminded of his defiance by an aching pit growling in his stomach like he'd swallowed a vicious dog whole. It felt like a dog, too; dull but vicious nails clawing the hole deeper, punishing him for his neglect. There was nothing there, nothing in his body to keep him satisfied. Draven dragged him along by his collar, and he stumbled along behind. Already, he felt so hungry. The thought of enduring more of such self-inflicted pain seemed impossible to him, but he knew he had to. Perseverance, he reminded himself. Surely, if he got too thin, somebody would notice and Draven would be exposed for his abuse. Of course, it could only be used as an emergency measure to break his deal. He would spend the time he had coming up with something better, a plan that was less self-sacrificing.

Wasn't the day over yet? It had felt like he'd been awake for three days, but he couldn't ask for the time. He was following Draven down the halls again, after helping him with target practice. Thankfully, the Noxian had practiced against training targets and used him for nothing more than an axe-fetcher. It had been tiring work, but it was a much better option than acting as the Noxian's target. Draven claimed he gave him a choice out of 'the goodness in his heart'. As if he had any. After that, it was time for him to clean Draven's armor and axes, with no shortage of grudging mumbles about how his gear was already perfectly clean. Clean wasn't good enough, Draven had informed him; his toys had to shine 'bright enough to rival the sun'. Only an immaculate polish would satisfy him, a sentiment that caused the blonde to roll his eyes, knowing full well that Draven only cared so much for cleanliness because it meant there were more menial tasks for him to assign.

Later on, he'd barely managed to remember what Draven would want for his next meal, the Noxian had sent him back to the kitchen to make him an entirely new plate twice. As if that hadn't been enough, he went out of his way to get a space cleared next to him where he sat for dinner - so he could get his shoes shined by his new servant. Ezreal didn't bother to question how or why the man had shoe polish and a shoe shining rag in his possession. Once again, he was offered the rest of the Noxian's meal, which he refused despite his already troubling hunger.

Draven led him back to his room, opening the door and letting him follow inside. The two of them were alone. There was something in the air that hung like smoke, toxic and suffocating. It was all in his imagination, of course, but he was terribly nervous; he felt sick. He tried to convince himself it was just his stomach, he wasn't used to going a day without food, but a voice in the back of his head cried to him, saying there was something else bothering him.

"Now then..." Draven started off, pushing the door closed. The Piltovian felt nauseated, he reluctantly stepped a bit further into the man's room to create distance between them. "Just you and me, Blondie." He said, pointing out the obvious. Draven took a few steps in his direction, he unconsciously stepped back in avoidance. "What's wrong, you scared of me?" Draven asked. Draven walked over with long strides, reaching for the boy's collar, watching with displeasure as the boy backed away from him. He advanced again, grabbing the strap of leather in a tightly-closed fist, pulling the boy closer. Ezreal raised his arms, pushing the Noxian away with a panic, causing the man to growl lowly.

He'd lost his confidence again; he was afraid, terribly afraid of what could be done to him. Draven was strong, a skilled fighter with and without a weapon, and he held no moral qualms regarding the physical abuse of his servants. He hated being close to the Noxian, the feeling of sickness in his stomach only grew more intense and irritating. Quickly, the Noxian moved, stepping behind the Piltovian. He grabbed a fistful of blonde hair, forcing his servant to the ground.

"You never learn, do you?" Draven asked with a hiss. A moment passed, his hand still tangled in the mess of pale yellow hair atop the boy's head; silently, he remarked to himself how soft it was between his fingers. He released it with some reluctance, stepping to the side and quickly kicking the boy in his middle, hitting his stomach with a vicious force. Draven remained unamused, perhaps he was even displeasured, as he watched the Piltovian double over, clutching his stomach in pain, the air gushing out of his mouth all at once. The Noxian kicked at the boy's side as an afterthought.

"That's what you get for trying to avoid me." He stated, as if it would do the blonde any good. Stupid boy, he never listened. He deserved no more warnings, all of them were wasted on the arrogant child. "I keep telling you exactly what I want from you and none of it gets through that thick skull of yours." Draven remarked, his voice lacking its usual tone, one that indicated some small jest or amusement. The Noxian had grown very stone-faced and serious. Again, there was an uncharacteristic quietness to his words.

The room was stirring with sounds of the blonde's wheezes and coughing breaths. Draven watched and waited for the boy to regain control of his breath. In a disgusting display of defiance, the boy sat up slightly, attempting to right himself. Without a second thought, he placed his foot between the shoulder blades of slouched figure's back and pushed down, forcing him to bend, his shoulders pressed against the floor.

"No." Draven said simply, "Not until I give you permission." He stated, comfortable with being controlling. He considered telling the boy what he had done to deserve his punishment. It would be a wasted effort, he decided. His many generous warnings and cautions went unheard, ignored because the boy was too proud of himself to take advice that could save him from easily avoidable pain. He knocked his heel against the back of the blonde's head, a low whine drawn from the boy's throat as his face hit the floor. "Get up." He demanded, leaving no time for rest or recovery. Ezreal stayed still, curled up on the floor in a pathetic, gasping heap. "Get on your fucking feet or I'll force my foot into your face." He warned, watching the boy struggle to rise. A miserable attempt, but at least his servant was beginning to obey; he doubted it would last long. As soon as the pain faded, he'd go right back to smart-mouthing.

The blonde forced himself to stand, his legs quivering beneath his own weight, he stumbled forward, losing his control. A startled yelp rang out as he reached forward, tripping over his own feet. He grasped onto the first thing in front of him to steady himself, his hands landing on the Noxian's shoulders. He hated it, he hated the sensation of toxicity that crawled over his skin when he touched the man. Could he even dare to call Draven a man? Something in his head tingled and buzzed with distress, once again crying for him to escape. The events of the day were a blur to him, his mind could only focus on the moment. The Noxian's hands pressed against his chest, pushing him away roughly. The man uttered something he didn't quite catch. Hunger, that was all it was. He couldn't focus because of his hunger, it was why he felt so terribly weak. His hands touched at a wall behind him, finally managing to regain his footing.

Draven spared himself no hesitation to close the distance again, making sure he was uncomfortably close to the Piltovian. In his dizzied haze, he caught a whir of movement before the pain emerged, blooming just above one of his hips, he made an involuntary cringe. The Noxian was moving far too quickly for him to adjust to the pain, suddenly the man's hand was in his hair again. Another stinging spread at the back of his head, Draven smashed his head against the wall, and again - the exact number of the repetitions didn't quite register with him. He felt a tingle in his throat, a sobbing moan spilled from his mouth. As soon as he realized the sound he'd made, he slapped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to silence himself.

"No." Draven told him, pausing his assault for only a moment to grasp the blonde's wrist firmly, pulling it away from his mouth, before another blow was delivered to his side. The Noxian pushed and pulled him around with a speed he couldn't measure, a darkness swam around his head and he found himself on the floor again. A foot hammered into his side again - the pain wouldn't have been so difficult to bear if the Noxian hadn't insisted on striking the places that already ached. He muttered a curse below his breath, grunting as the Noxian struck him again.

Two, three, four - he closed his eyes, his eyelashes feeling damp. No, he couldn't cry, he couldn't give the man that satisfaction. He opened his eyes again, blinking the tears back desperately. Draven kicked him forcefully, he fell onto his side with a groan. The Noxian's foot landed on his shoulder and pushed him onto his back. Eight, seven, six... The foot on his chest moved, pressing down on his neck. Weary eyes gazed up, trying to look at anything other than the Noxian, but unable. He coughed, his throat being crushed.

"P-please..." Ezreal choked out weakly. "I don't..." an unrecognizable noise escaped him, he spoke without thinking of the words. Neon lights shone into his vision through tiny pinpricks, his head ached, he could feel the pulse of blood beating in his brain. The noises of the room grew distant, he could have sworn he'd heard a tapping somewhere far off, a product of his imagination. The vision of the man standing above him dimmed, the pain that plagued him dulled out. The numbness that overcame him was a relief.

He shot up where he sat, gasping, panting heavily. His head felt light, his dizzied brain came down from a high he didn't know he was on. Part of him had hoped it was all a terrible dream, and yet the scenery before him told him the truth. He was still in Draven's room, but where was Draven? He swore he could hear the Noxian's voice; the obnoxious tone of it was unmistakable, yet quiet and muffled. Eyes adjusting, the room came back into focus, he turned his head as his ears began to pick up more noise. Draven was near the door, talking to somebody... Darius, when did Darius get there? His arms couldn't keep his weight up, he fell back on the floor again.

"He made it personal." Draven stated angrily, the Piltovian wasn't entirely sure what the man was talking about. He could have sworn the Noxian had been standing above him mere moments ago, surely he couldn't have crossed the room so fast.

"He doesn't know anything about us." Darius said, "I'm telling you right now to just forget about it." His eyes fell shut with a heavy weight upon them, he breathed in deeply, his breaths no longer taken in panic.

"He has no right to say anything." They were speaking in hushed tones, it took a good amount of his focus to catch what was being said. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

"It wasn't a request." Darius growled, "I'm not going to cover up the kid's death for you." He could hear the younger of the two make a noise of frustration. His body felt heavy, he nearly wanted to fall asleep where he was, unable to think hard enough to wonder what had happened to him.

"Just get him out of here." Draven spoke as if he were disgusted.

"He's your responsibility." Darius stated. Ezreal managed to open his eyes again with a fluttering of pale eyelashes. His vision remained for only a moment before it darkened again.

"I don't want to touch him. Will you please just..." Draven sighed, sounding nearly humble as he spoke words of bargaining to his brother. He doubted the Noxian would ever truly express humbleness, he was more likely to be exhausted from the terrible chore it was to beat somebody else into senselessness. Vibrations along the ground approached him; footsteps he felt instead of heard. His body was peeled for the floor, for a moment he couldn't help but acknowledge the sweat that stuck his shirt to his back. Temptation suggested he open his eyes, but logic told him it was pointless to look when he already knew what he'd see. Still, his curiosity won and he strained with his body, but managed to sneak a glance from under half-hooded eyes. Nothing interesting, only Darius waited for him as he looked up with ache. The lights were far too bright, he squeezed his eyes shut tight as a stinging sensation racked his head.

The door swung open, and he felt himself fall to the floor again, delivered to the hall with no gentleness. The pain was returning, his stomach ached from hunger and bruises as he shifted. Blue eyes fixed their gaze on the cold marble for a moment. Exhaustion and ache kept him still; what options did he have? It was painful simply to move, he couldn't go anywhere. What would happen if he were to be found there? He had to leave, to at least get far enough to hide in a corner somewhere. Blindly shuffling along the floor, he managed to crawl a few doors down before he surrendered. He needed to heal himself, he wondered if he even had the ability to concentrate long enough to perform magic. What he really needed was some sort of miracle.

"Ezreal?" He looked up, his eyes could roam as high as their knees. It wasn't necessary, he recognized that voice easily. Perhaps it wasn't a miracle, but it was the best he'd get. A smile managed to crack on his lips, however forced it was. He felt terrible, that much was obvious, but he was thankful.


	6. A Moment's Rest

_Everybody was really surprised when I didn't take another two months to update this time around. I actually have a legitimate excuse for not writing other than being too lazy to try, and that was having a week of my time spent waiting for a visitor to my home, and then taking care of that visitor and being hospitable like I was expected to be. So now I don't have any more excuses and I'll actually have to work on getting updates out maybe a bit faster than once every four years._

_I hate to be that guy who bribes people into reviewing, but it really does encourage me to see positive feedback on my stuff. You don't have to, but I always like knowing that people still care about this story._

_And I promise that we'll get to the awful, dirty stuff sooner or later. Never mind the fact that, that was probably the least assuring promise in the history of promises. Anyway, I do have very terrible plans. I know you folks are really enthusiastic about Ezreal getting his ass kicked (among other things you seem particularly up for reading), so I know I pretty much have to deliver on my promises._

_All things in time. Have to build up to it first._

_**Chapter Six: **A Moment's Rest  
**Word Count: **5,700_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Darius, Jayce_  
_**Pairings:** None_  
_**Warnings:** Not-so-mild violence, potty mouthing_

* * *

The last thing he remembered was crawling down the hall, making what little effort he could to escape from Draven and his brother. Plagued by fatigue, his mind blackened for the few hours he'd managed to sleep, not even conscious enough to remember his dreams. The first thing he could recognize was a cushioned surface below him, nearly a comfort to him. At the very least, resting remedied his lack of energy, even if only a little. Still, his aching flesh teased him with pain when he moved. A moment was taken for him to take in his surroundings; he recognized the room easily. Cogs and screws, electrical wires scattered on a short table in front of him, disassembled and half-rebuilt mechanical devices sat in the corner of the room. A part of his memory grew clearer, he could recall Jayce finding him in the hall, standing above him, speaking forgettable words with a tone that sounded almost as if he'd expected to end up in such a situation.

"Jayce?" Ezreal called out into the room. What he had intended to be nearly a shout came out as a weak cry. He shifted on the couch he had been placed on, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Behind him, the sound of foot meeting ground and book pages being turned grew steadily closer.

"Hey, you're awake." Jayce remarked, "You called, right?" He asked, as the blonde turned himself to face his friend. Jayce strolled over, a leather-bound book sitting in his hand. He peered up from the inked letters to share a glance with the blonde.

"Yeah. Just checking to see if you're here." Ezreal answered, as the brunet folded the corner of a page. Jayce closed his book and dropped it on the table.

"Where else would I be? It's my room." Jayce's voice held a humored tone, lighthearted; not mocking. Still, it was clear that the man was concerned, he simply decided not to express it so obviously. The constant worrying of Taric and Lux, though he appreciated their thoughts, was tiring for the prodigy at times. He knew they were only thinking of his safety, but he needed his space sometimes. Jayce understood that simple fact about him and respected it.

"How long was I out for?" Ezreal asked, glancing at the book's cover from where he sat; it was some sort of journal about sustainable energy sources.

"A few hours." Jayce said, turning and walking off. "Want me to get you anything? Food, water?" He asked casually, more of an offer than an insistence.

"Food. I'm starving." Ezreal requested without hesitation. He didn't know when he'd get the next chance to eat without sacrificing his dignity. "Anything you can manage." He stated. Jayce made a sound that almost sounded like a laugh, strolling towards a cooler; he recalled the man telling him that it was technically against the 'terms of agreement' for him to have his own cooler in his room. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

"Are you going to be alright? You looked pretty banged up when I found you." It was a fairly large understatement. Finding his friend crawling down the hall with bruises on his skin and blood trickling down his chin was nothing short of frightening. The way the blonde had smiled, trying to put on a brave face for him despite how clearly wrong everything was going invoked a feeling close to heartbreak.

"I'll be fine. I can always heal myself if I get hurt." He didn't know if Ezreal was aware of how obvious it was that he was lying to reassure him. He chose not to press the issue. If the younger Piltovian truly needed to talk about his troubles, he would. Jayce reached into his cooler, grabbing the first edible thing he could find. Ezreal glanced up at the brunet as he placed a plate down on the table, nodding his head as a silent expression of gratitude. "What time is it?" He asked, as if his unawareness of the hour had only then occurred to him. Jayce glanced over to a clock that hung high on one of the walls, checking the time with a quick look.

"It's about ten after three." He stated his answer, watching as the blonde shot him a look of disbelief.

"No way." Ezreal scoffed as he picked up his plate, which he placed on his lap. "Why were you up reading about electricity?" Something he could never dare say was that he was somewhat grateful to have been found by Jayce, out of all of his friends. If it had been anybody else, he'd surely be getting an earful of undesired sympathy and nagging reminders for him to be more careful. Perhaps it was selfish of him to refuse help for the sake of his pride, but being treated like a defenseless child was nothing short of tiring.

"What else is there to do? Not like anybody else is up this late." The older Piltovian shrugged his shoulders slightly as he spoke.

"Yeah, that's because they're _sleeping_." Ezreal said with an eyebrow raised, "What I meant was, why are you up at this hour and not sleeping like everybody else?" He clarified, blindly picking something up off of his plate and popping it into his mouth. He was eating his food too quickly to enjoy or even acknowledge the taste of it.

"Couldn't sleep." The brunet admitted with a casual tone. "Got a lot on my mind." His mind had been occupied by the thoughts of certain agreements made; Darius and his promise to ensure Ezreal's safety. Perhaps he had been foolish to take a leap of faith on the Noxian.

"Something wrong?" The blonde asked curiously, his words somewhat mumbled through the food in his mouth. He hardly paid attention to what he ate, devouring the contents on his plate faster than he could keep track of. "Lady trouble?" He guessed with amusement in his voice.

"Hah, good one." Jayce sputtered out a laugh. One thing the Explorer wasn't entirely sure of was whether Jayce and his lady-killer attitude was genuine or an act, from what he could tell it was a bit of both - he played up his natural charm around women. "Just some personal things, nothing I can't handle." He gave a truthful answer, "I made a deal with a guy. Need to make sure he's not ripping me off." He explained.

"Sounds kinda serious if it's keeping you up." Ezreal stated a simple observation, finishing the rest of his food.

"A little bit." Jayce said, "Really, don't worry about it. You have your own issues to deal with, and this is nothing big." The older Piltovian stepped away from his guest, the conversation between the two of them died down into silent awareness of each others presence. Ezreal turned his blonde-haired head up as he set his plate on the table, glancing up at the older Piltovian, who paced his room, with a look on his face that made it appear as if he was immersed in the chatter of his own mind. A thought occurred to him, a request he felt inclined to make. There was a good chance of a positive outcome, the reward greatly outweighed the risk. After all, the worst Jayce could say was 'no'. He sat up straight and took a quick breath.

"Hey, do you mind if I stay here tonight?" He requested, drawing the brunet's attention to him again. Jayce chuckled quietly, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"What, did you think I was going to let you leave?" Jayce teased, "Yeah, of course you can stay here. I don't want you to pass out in the hall again on your way back to your room." He answered with a welcoming tone.

"Thanks, I'm too tired to really go anywhere." Ezreal admitted with slight humor. He let out a sigh, shifting slightly so he could lift the bottom of his shirt and inspect the damage that had been done to him by the Noxian. The blonde let out a murmured noise of discomfort, examining a reddening bruise that sat just above his right hip. Raising a hand, he closed his eyes and concentrated, imagining the red color and the pain that accompanied it being washed away. A surge of healing energy rushed to his aching side, he felt a cooling, almost tingling sensation as he cleansed his wounds.

Silently, the younger Piltovian made a note to himself that he would have to figure out how to sedate himself with magic, perhaps even heal his wounds without healing the bruises that marked his skin. Either way, he needed some way to ease his pain without raising suspicion; surely, healing himself was against one of Draven's many unspoken rules. It was clear to him that he'd done something to anger the Noxian earlier, though he wasn't entirely sure what. He had overheard Draven and Darius arguing over whatever he'd done to defy the Executioner, but the details of the conversation were lost to his weary mind.

"I heard it takes a lot of practice to get good with magic." Jayce placed a casual remark out for discussion, drawing him away from his troubling thoughts. The brunet stood above him, leaning on the couch with his weight on his hands.

"Wasn't _I_ the one who told you that?" Ezreal asked with an eyebrow raised, as he looked over to another bruise, concentrating himself on numbing the pain.

"Probably." Jayce shrugged as he watched with keen interest. "It's fascinating to watch you do it." He smiled slightly. "You ever think about picking back up on your magic studies?" He asked; Jayce was fully aware of his previous pursuits of arcane academics, and his abandonment of them for a life of adventure.

"Crosses my mind sometimes." Ezreal admitted, pushing his hair behind his ear. "I know my parents are really eager to have me 'live up to my potential'." He rolled his eyes at the thought. A hand came down gently on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

"Whatever you decide you want to do, you'll be great at it." Jayce said with a hint of pride in his voice. The blonde sighed, restraining himself from rolling his eyes again.

"_Don't _do this, don't start with the corny, 'I'll always be proud of you' stuff." Ezreal groaned his protest, causing the brunet to let out a hearty laugh.

"Just messing with you." Jayce smirked, patting his friend on the shoulder quickly. He could hear his friend making a noise of relief. "Hey, I was wondering, is that supposed to be a collar around your neck?" He questioned, curious and a bit confused. Ezreal reached up, touching the leather strap gingerly.

"This thing? Yeah, it is." He answered, doing what he could to hide his distaste for the symbol of bondage. "It was Draven's idea. Can't say it's the weirdest thing he's done since this all started." he sighed quietly. A moment passed by in silence, and he couldn't help but have his mind drawn back to one of his many concerns. "Jayce, did you know about Taric?" Ezreal asked rather suddenly, steering the conversation in an entirely different direction.

"What about him?" The brunet asked, walking around the couch and taking the empty plate off the table with him as he passed by. "Something happen to him?" He asked, unsure of what the blonde was getting at, but knowing it was something troubling to him. He could hear Ezreal take in a breath as if preparing to speak, but something caused him to stop. He had crossed the room, placed the empty dish in a sink. Sparing a moment to glance over to the Explorer, he waited for his friend to compose himself. It took a good minute, a few stumbled beginnings of sentences that ended abruptly and told him nothing.

"What do you do when you find out one of your best friends is in love with you?" Ezreal spurted out in a rush, as if he would trip over the words if he tried to pace himself. Jayce furrowed his brow, having misheard some of the words.

"Pardon?" Jayce asked, watching as the blonde sat still and silent again for a moment, though thankfully not as long of a pause as before.

"Nevermind. I shouldn't have mentioned it." Ezreal grew suddenly discouraged, only causing the brunet more worry. The Explorer was never so quick to settle down. He was private about some things, perhaps, but once he spoke up, his feelings poured out like a fountain of words.

"Hey, don't just say something and then drop it." The Defender held the blonde in a focused gaze. "If something's bothering you, I'll listen." He encouraged. All he could do was wait.

"I just..." Ezreal started off, hanging his head slightly, "Draven made me ask him if he loved me." He explained, "So I did, and..." He sighed, shaking his head. The blonde paused again, jumping from one worry to another before he had enough time to fully grasp his thoughts, "I don't want things to be different, you know?" He asked with a tone of regret, even pain, "I don't want things to get weird with him because I can't really feel that way for him." He stated, propping his elbows up on his knees, his face sinking into his hands. He felt a clenching, dreadful tightness in his chest, his breaths staggering. "We were just _friends_, everything was fine!" He spat out, his tone changing, he felt like a weight was in his throat. "Damn it, he ruined everything!" Ezreal cried out, his thoughts drawn to the Noxian. Jayce strolled over, feeling it was time for him to interject.

"Hey, you don't know how things are going to play out from here." Jayce stated, taking a seat next to the blonde, who pulled his hands back, pushing them through his hair as he raised his head. "You're thinking too hard about this. For all you know, things might not even change at all."

"But how can I just be his friend when I know how he feels?" The Explorer looked over to him, his chest rising as he took a deep breath.

"Don't treat him different for it." Jayce answered. In honesty, he had dealt with similar situations in the past. "Hey, he might not even feel that strongly for you. He might have just been overwhelmed by how suddenly you brought it up. I doubt he had much time to think about it." He shrugged. He stood again, feeling particularly restless that night. "You're thinking too much. Sleep it off." Jayce advised, heading towards his door.

"Easy for you to say." Ezreal grumbled, although he complied, laying on his side and making himself comfortable. "You going somewhere?" He asked quickly.

"Yeah, can't sleep just yet." The Defender admitted, turning open the lock before opening the door, letting it swing open in front of him. "Not sure when I'll be back. You can take the bed if you want." He offered, although he knew the Explorer wouldn't accept it. Ezreal yawned as he waved the brunet off, saying a goodbye. Sleep came to him easily, especially since he'd healed some of his more troublesome wounds. He had nearly hoped he could stay awake for longer simply to ponder his troubles, but it was less than two minutes before his mind sank into a warm darkness.

It took the Defender a few turns around the corners and halls of the housing quarters before his fist met with Darius' door, loud and urgent as he tapped on the wood with his knuckles. It was late and others were sleeping, but he hardly cared. He wouldn't be able to properly rest himself without some sort of explanation. Darius was quick to answer his door, pulling it open and staring at him with stony eyes, as if he'd expected the Piltovian to seek him out. The Noxian waited for him to state his business, not bothering to greet him. He knew full well that the conversation was sure to have something to do with the boy, there was no point in consuming words that could easily be spared simply to throw out conversation starters.

"Want to explain to me why I found Ez dragging himself down the hall looking like he'd been beaten half to death?" Jayce questioned, returning the Noxian's gaze with an equally cold stare. The brunet paused briefly, but clearly had more to say. Darius waited, allowing the other man to continue. "If you needed more incentive to keep watch over him, you could have told me. I'm more than willing to offer you _any_ sum of money if it'll keep him safe." Darius found the older Piltovian's protectiveness of his young friend rather quaint, it even reminded him of how he'd treated his brother when they were younger.

"You misunderstand." Darius stated with a low tone, "I do not spend all of my time around Draven." He explained quite simply, getting to the point as soon as possible, "I subdued him when I was able." He stated the truth; it came naturally to him to settle his brother down. "I won't always be there to stop him." He didn't care enough to feign an apologetic tone. Jayce stood in silence for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he believed the Noxian.

"I believe I understand the situation now." Jayce bowed his head slightly. "You're the something along the lines of the second in command as far as the Noxian government goes, right?" He asked, receiving nothing more than a nod in response. "Hm, so I don't suppose you have too much time to spare to look after Ez." Jayce said to himself. In truth, though he did have a considerable amount of responsibility and power, his duties scarcely interfered with his personal pursuits unless Noxus was in the middle of an all-out war. "Just, do what you can, I guess. I know you have your own reasons to make sure he doesn't get killed." Jayce concluded - the Noxian felt that the conversation could have ended sooner, but didn't bother to express such thoughts. It would serve as nothing more than pointless banter, the type that would be wasted on somebody like Jayce, who he doubted he would ever serve as an ally to him. If he was going to waste time, it might as well be wasted forming some sort of potential 'friendship', for lack of a better term. Jayce saw himself off with some words of near gratitude. Darius backed into his room once again, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Ezreal shot up from where he laid as he heard a loud knock banging against Jayce's door. The room was filled with daylight, night had passed. He glanced over to the clock; he'd slept for hours longer than he had meant to.

"Open up, Blondie!" Draven's voice demanded through the door, "I know you're in there!" He could only manage to groan, still groggy from sleep. The Piltovian rose to his feet, shuffling towards the door with a low growl of frustration. At the very least, he hadn't woken up feeling completely exhausted like he had the previous morning. A bruise protested against his movement by stinging his side; he silenced it with a moment's concentration dedicated to dulling the pain. It wouldn't heal the wound, but at the least it would keep it from bothering him. Ezreal brought his hand to the door, flipping the lock open and taking a quick breath, opening the door slowly. The Executioner stood waiting less-than-patiently, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What do you want, Draven?" Ezreal asked, trying to shake off his drowsiness by tapping his feet gently on the floor, one at a time. A needless question, but the more time he spent talking with the Noxian was less time he'd have to spend following orders like some mindless lackey.

"Forgot already? You're my slave now, kid." Draven answered, "Got a damn concussion from what I did to you last night or what?" He questioned, knowing full well the Piltovian couldn't have possibly forgotten their agreement.

"I'm your servant, not your slave." The Explorer felt the need to differentiate between the two for the sake of his self-worth.

"What, do you _really_ think there's a difference between the two?" The Noxian uncrossed his arms, placing them on his hips to assume another posture of impatience. "You should really be glad I'm simply settling for 'slave'." He chided, again putting on a false face of mercy. "I could be telling everybody that you're my bitch for the next two months." Draven laughed, fingers caught in his dark brown mane of hair, tossing it behind his shoulder with a sharp turn of his head. "Instead it's just you, me, and a few others who know. Show some gratitude, Girly." Ezreal scrunched his nose up slightly with distaste for the nickname, but kept quiet about it.

"Are you gonna tell me where we're going or do you plan on standing around talking about how much you love yourself for another five minutes?" Ezreal yawned silently, forcing his mouth to stay shut as he did. He reached up and adjusted the leather collar around his neck; the weight of it, however little, still felt alien and unsettling.

"Watch your mouth." Draven smirked in remembrance, "All that tough talk and ego is what got you here in the first place, remember?" He reminded, grabbing the boy by the strap around his neck and dragging him out of the room. "If you're smart, you'll take this as a learning experience." He stated, words dripping with a tone of condescension.

"What is there to learn?" The blonde questioned with a tone of boredom, following Draven down the hall without protest. He'd stalled the man for long enough, any more dawdling would most likely be grounds for more of Draven's punishments. It displeased him to admit that as much as he disliked the Noxian, he was not easy to fool. Perhaps it could be traced back to a harsh upbringing on the streets of Noxus.

"You'll learn not to overvalue yourself." Draven shrugged, sounding somewhat humored, "And that you should never love _anybody_ more than you love me, not even yourself." Ezreal could feel bile crawling up his throat at the words. Was he being serious? Such a question crossed his mind fairly often when he was around the Executioner. "By the way, don't even bother trying to hide from me by staying in one of your friends' rooms." Luckily for him, Draven sounded more or less amused again. The quiet, unreadable Draven from the day before seemed to be even more vicious and violent than the Draven that treated everything as a game for his entertainment.

"I wasn't hiding." Ezreal growled, refusing to be seen as a coward. "Jayce found me in the hall and took me to his room." He explained, as if the Noxian would even bother to listen. He couldn't help but notice that the Noxian carried leather pack with him, he wondered what it contained.

"_Ooh_, better not tell Taric. He might get jealous." Draven laughed, only causing the blonde further frustration.

"That's not funny." The Explorer's eyes narrowed to a humorless squint.

"No, it's really not. The funny part is watching you get your panties in a twist over it." His teeth glinted in the light as he grinned with satisfaction, hearing the Piltovian make a noise of anger.

"Shut up." The younger growled, only giving the Noxian reason to discipline him. Draven turned and swung a fist at him, Ezreal stepped back a moment too late, still receiving a strike to the jaw, knocking his head to the side.

"Sorry, what was that?" Draven asked, daring him to make another petulant remark. Ezreal raised a hand, his fingers timidly brushing against his own cheek, letting a weak healing energy flow to the injury to numb it. He turned his face forward once again, eyes locking with the Executioner's.

"I told you to shut up." The Explorer repeated, his voice unwavering despite a feeling of fear that trickled down his spine. Draven seemed almost taken aback by his insistence, a look on his face that appeared as though he might have even felt the slightest hint of admiration for his determination. He watched as the man drew his arm back slightly, but hesitated for a moment before he lowered it again, changing his mind.

"Y'know, I'd_ love_ to hit you again." Draven stated, almost warning him. "But I don't want to cause a scene." He chuckled at his own words.

"I thought you loved attention." The Explorer remarked, confused by Draven's sudden desire to avoid having people notice him.

"Don't get me wrong, Blondie. I really do love the sound of people cheering for me. I deserve it, too." The Noxian confirmed the boy's pondering. "It's for your sake. I don't want you to feel embarrassed for getting your scrawny ass kicked, out here in the open." Blue eyes rolled in their sockets at the man's words.

"You sure it's not just because you don't want the guards on you?" The Piltovian was justified in his skepticism, knowing everything Draven said was delivered with three extra coatings of brovado.

"Kid, I'm from Noxus. Do you really think some empty-headed meat shields are going to scare me?" Draven snorted at the very suggestion of fear.

"There's a reason why they're guarding one of the most powerful, influential institutes in the world." The blonde stated matter-of-factly, only serving to humor the Noxian, who continued to guide him down the halls.

"If they're really so tough, why are they just guards?" Draven asked, pointing out a painful truth to the Piltovian; he wasn't safe. "If any of these guards were really worth something, don't you think they'd be fighting in The League?" In truth, it was incredibly fulfilling to be able to shoot down the boy's know-it-all remarks. "These guards are just your typical soldiers. They might have some decent combat training, but they're really only useful for defending against their lessers." He explained, as the Piltovian frowned at the thought of how helpless he was. "Any of the 'Champions' here, even the least impressive ones, could take them out easily." Draven smirked, "Even somebody as inexperienced as you. Although maybe not without your special little glove thing." He pointed out, coming close to complimenting the boy.

"I've fought in plenty of battles!" Ezreal barked, childishly defensive against any form of criticism. Draven burst into a laugh at the boy's words, exaggerating a little solely for the sake of angering the Piltovian. From what he could tell, Draven was taking him to the training grounds.

"Oh, wow..." Draven chuckled, his laughter dying down enough for him to speak properly, "You _actually_ take credit for what you've done in League matches?" He asked with a mocking tone, "You think you're anything more than just a puppet for the Summoners?" He pushed the boy through the doors that lead towards the training grounds. "Hate to burst your bubble, but everything you've done here was the work of somebody else. Didn't you figure that out when you fought me?" He asked. Ezreal opened his mouth to spit a retort, but nothing emerged. It was shameful for him to admit it, but Draven was right; fighting without a Summoner was terrifying. The Summoners placed their confidence, their battle knowledge, their strategies, even parts of their personalities, into the minds and bodies of the Champions they summoned. It wasn't as if all of the Champions were somehow incompetent with strategy, many of them had been selected to join the League because of their mind for battle - but he knew next to nothing of the sort.

"What's the matter, Blondie? Cat got your tongue?" Draven asked, knowing full well that he'd proven his point. "Or did you run out of stupid things to say?"

"You're wrong." Ezreal stammered. _'But he's not wrong at all'_ he said to himself inside his mind.

"There's no other way I can put it. You're just a shell for them." Draven said, fussing with his own hair. The Executioner sat upon a bench, opening the leather pack he'd carried with him; it was nothing more than a bag full of his equipment. Ezreal stood quietly while the Noxian dressed himself for practice. "Don't get me wrong, they must have seen_ something_ in you that they wanted." So many times, the Noxian came close to flattering, but never quite managed. "I don't know what exactly it _is_, but it's definitely not your strategic mind." He shrugged, buckling up his armguards. "So, you ready to get hit?" Draven asked, standing up and stretching his arms out. The Piltovian let out a sigh of begrudging acceptance.

"Do I have a choice?" He returned, barely serious. He knew full well what the answer was, but he couldn't help but talk back.

"Of course not." The Noxian said with a slight, sinister smile. Ezreal felt the leather rubbing against his neck, causing a mild irritation, an itch that he scratched with annoyance.

"Why did you even put your armor on if you're just here to punch me?" The Explorer pondered out loud, pointing out the needlessness of the man's actions.

"Didn't say you couldn't hit back." Draven led him out of the changing room, to a shorter hallway that led to a practice ring. Ezreal followed with a look of curiosity on his face. "Might as well make this fun. Go ahead and try to fight me." He challenged, allowing himself into the practice arena. He could do nothing but follow, a bit confused, but more than eager for the chance to fight the man again.

* * *

Ezreal groaned as he fell on his back, meeting the lightly-padded floor with a soft thud. He'd lost count of how many times he'd been put in such a position during their sparring match. Draven had been far from kind to him, not easing up on him even a slight amount. Already he'd been kicked, punched, pushed, and pulled off his balance, and every time he forced his body to recover, only by a little each time. Perhaps it was humiliating, but it provided him with much needed practice of his magic, even if he had to do it secretly. The Piltovian pushed himself up onto his feet again with strain, amusing the Noxian.

"Damn, you just don't stay down, do you?" Draven asked, although he hardly seemed bothered by it. Ezreal wiped at his face with the back of his hand, glancing down as he felt a moistness on his skin, beholding a red hue that clashed with the light tone of his skin. "Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, your face is bleeding." Draven said casually.

"You don't say?" Ezreal said, feigning a tone of amazement. He grunted as the Draven's fist met with his arm. The blonde watched as the man drew back, grabbing his arm quickly and pulling him closer, striking back by driving his fist up into the Noxian's jaw. Ezreal stepped back, releasing his grip on the man's arm.

"Heh, you really have no combat training at all." Draven chuckled, rubbing his chin where he'd been struck. The blonde watched him as he walked towards the exit of the training ring. "Come on, we're leaving." Draven called over his shoulder.

"What's wrong with the way I fight?" Ezreal nearly yelled, blue eyes shining with anger, personally offended by the comment.

"I'm here to beat you up, not to coach you." Draven shrugged, leading him back to the changing room. "Pretty much everything is wrong with it, if that helps." Draven said.

"It doesn't. At all." Ezreal growled, particularly interested in what he was doing wrong.

"Good." The Noxian smiled, taking off the leather armor that covered his chest, leaving him in the shirt he wore underneath.

"Shouldn't your brother be here to babysit you by now?" Ezreal questioned, pulling at his shirt, displeased by how it clung to his skin with sweat.

"Nope. Where he _should_ be is back in Noxus. Unless something happened to him on the way there." Draven remarked, packing his things into his bag.

"Noxus?" Ezreal asked, his voice expressing what could be labeled as disbelief. "Why is he in Noxus?"

"What, does he need your permission to go there or something?" Draven returned, handing his bag over to the Piltovian, who struggled with the weight. Using his magic without the aid of his treasured amulet required much effort, and had left him feeling drained of energy. "Actually, give that back." He didn't give the boy time to follow his orders, simply grabbing his bag and taking it from the Piltovian's hands. "Go wash yourself or something, you smell like sweat and blood. I can't have you dirtying up my things."

"Sure, whatever." He complied, too tired to express his relief to have time away from the Noxian.

"I expect you at my door in ten minutes." Draven smiled, as Ezreal sighed, checking a clock conveniently in the room. He forced himself to hold in a noise of agony. He cursed his luck. It was only noon.


	7. A Deep Breath

_I spent the entire night writing this up, crashing my computer, and writing it up again, and I'm honestly incredibly thankful for the fact that I wrote ahead for the next chapter. So I have a few specific replies to reviews here, and I'd like to get that done and get my chapter up right away._

_**LadyLucky** - Yep, as the name Cain would imply, I am a boy. Perhaps a man if you could consider me one, keeping in mind how hilarious I think poop jokes are. If you wanted to get in contact with me, the most reliable way to do that is pretty much over tumblr, and I have my url posted here on my handy dandy profile. Or there's my inbox on this website, but tumblr is probably your best bet. I certainly would not mind chatting with you (or anybody else, for that matter) and playing a game some time (if you're on the NA server, anyway)._

_**takanorixx** - Oh, I know I have a lot of plot points and other things that we've all seen a hundred times before. Personally, I think a cliche can only harm your work if you do it badly. My ideas aren't the most original out there, but I work my ass off to make sure that if I'm going to write something we've already seen, I'm going to write it in a way that doesn't bore people to death... I don't think that really sounded very confident of me._

_**Dyn** - Just to clear things up, here's how I imagine things. The Draven/Ezreal stuff is gonna happen, and it's going to be awful, one-sided, and just not a fun time for at least one of the people involved. Basically, Ezreal is going to have a very shitty time in the future (pardon my foul language). The Darius/Ezreal stuff, on the other hand... Let's just say it's going to be different. But yes, I'm going to take my sweet time to get everybody simpatico._

_Now then... Let's get down to business._

_**Chapter Seven:** A Deep Breath_  
_**Word Count:** 5,000 (ish)_  
_**Characters:** Draven, Ezreal, Darius_  
_**Pairings:** Some mild tinges of Draven/Ezreal until it all goes wrong_  
_**Warnings:** Mild violence, not-so-mild language, Draven, some slight non-con(sensual touching), peer pressure (idk if this warning is necessary but it's better to be safe than sorry)_

* * *

Later on, the Piltovian found himself again, horribly alone with the Noxian, undeniably fearing he was about to receive another vicious beating from the man. Even if he could heal himself, it drained him of his energy. As much as he wanted to avoid suffering, the feeling that accompanied being mana-starved was dreadful; something he had learned during his studies of magic.

"You listening?" Draven's voice directed at him drew his attention, after some long rant or another. Ezreal glanced up, having taken a seat on the floor.

"Something about flimsy magic users?" Ezreal asked, hearing the man make a scoffing noise, almost impressed that he had caught even a small amount of what he'd said.

"Yeah. Aren't you one of them?" The Noxian asked, captivated by his own image on a mirrored glass as he tended to his hair.

"More or less." Ezreal answered lazily, his words dripping with a tone of disinterest. "I stopped studying years ago." He stated, the slightest pang of regret hitting him. His parents invested their time and money for him to learn something he naturally excelled at, something he gave up out of boredom.

"Can you fix wounds?" The Noxian asked, carefully combing a tangle out of his hair, his hands working with precise movements so as to not damage a single brown strand.

"Yeah, used to do it in matches." Ezreal answered, as the man turned away from his reflection, towards his servant. "If you're looking for lessons, I can't help you. You have to start young." The blonde clarified, although he didn't know what Draven would want to learn magic for; it was the only reason, for the Noxian to bring up the subject, that he could come up with. "Or get in a freak accident." He added with a shrug, recalling a certain Card Master's explanation of his magic studies, or lack thereof.

"Why would I want magic when I have axes?" Draven questioned, full of his usual self-indulgence. Of course, he figured his blades were unbeatable, he shouldn't have been surprised by the man's pride. "Come here, I have a job for you." He beckoned, watching the boy force himself to a stand, shuffling his feet across the floor. "What's wrong with you?" The Noxian questioned with annoyance, stepping forward and grasping the boy's wrist, pulling him over with a strong tug. Draven chuckled quietly as a whir of blonde hair drew near him, landing against his shoulder with a noise of shock. A hum of content sounded in his throat, his hand found its way to a warm slope of flesh while the Piltovian was focused on regaining his footing, stumbling with confusion, his hands landing on a cabinet that stood behind the Noxian. Ezreal paused, embarrassed by his idiotic fumbling. A sudden head rush had hit him, his vision spinning and darkening as he struggled to stand. There was a vague awareness of warmth pressed against him. He turned his head up, blinking his vision into clarity, only realizing his body had went numb as it regained feeling. Breaths deep and panted, he stepped back with a look of disgust, perhaps even fear, on his face.

"What do you want?" He hissed, blue eyes glaring up at the Noxian. A smirk tugged his lips to the side, the blonde couldn't help but utter a noise of frustration, angered with his arrogance. The man turned his hand up, revealing a deep crimson strike that stretched across his palm.

"Can you patch me up?" Draven questioned, an implacable shine glossing over his eyes. He would have to choose his words carefully, certain that any misstep in conversation could end in bruises.

"I could." He answered, holding in a remark about how truly 'perfect' Draven must be if he was still susceptible to injuries. "Scratches are the easiest to heal."

"If it's so easy, you can shut up and get to work." The Noxian leaned back on the cabinet, holding his hand out for the boy. Ezreal sighed, again restraining himself from spitting out an insult or protest. He held his hand up above the other's, channelling his energy into a golden light that flowed between them. Something was odd about it, he determined the depth and direction of the incision as he focused on healing it inside and out; it was impossible for the cut to have been an accident, it was an injury that the man had taken willingly, he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Magic feels weird." Draven remarked, his skin crawling with a foreign tingling as he was healed. "How do you do this without throwing up?" He asked. "Seems strange to see you so comfortable with it."

"With practice." He said quickly, not caring enough to elaborate any further. The Piltovian watched as the man's skin healed over; in truth, he hadn't fully repaired the wound, only sped up the healing process and patched the skin together. He felt lightheaded again, overworked from the day he spent to abuse of his powers. Stepping back again, he was careful not to lose his footing. Draven opened and closed his hand a few times as he took the time to inspect the Explorer's work. The Noxian strolled through the room, sitting down on a wooden chair in front of a small table, propping a foot up so he could remove his boot, repeating the process on the other foot.

"Get under the table and get to work." Draven ordered, causing the boy to pause, a look of confusion plastered on his face. The Noxian glanced over his shoulder quickly, shaking his head as he grasped a stack of papers that sat on the table in front of him. "Listen, kid, I don't know why you can't just follow orders. My feet hurt from those shoes. Fix that, then you're off for the night." He stated. The boy frowned, but made his way over to the table, ducking beneath it and sitting at the Noxian's feet.

* * *

Ezreal found his way back to his room with a look of defeat on his face. There was nothing he would have loved more to say something, anything to get under the man's skin, but until he could determine when he was safe to speak his mind and when he wasn't, there was no point in risking having the Noxian fly into another episode of blind rage and fist-swinging. Of course, he could have used the opportunity he had to test the waters. He stopped in his steps outside his door, hesitating to take out the key. He needed to know what set Draven off and when he was likely to lose his temper in order to understand when he was expected to hold his tongue. It would have told him more if he had simply mouthed off at the man rather than held it in for his own safety. He growled as he forced the key into the lock, angered by his amateur mistake.

He was exhausted, he reminded himself, he wasn't thinking straight. His intuition was backwards - if anything, listening to his instincts was more likely to hinder than help in his state of mind. Even worse, he was still terribly hungry. A moment passed by where he considered visiting Jayce, or stealing something from the kitchens, but his body dragged him to the comfort of his bed. His legs felt weak, even when he didn't use them. Every part of him was drained of energy, he surrendered to slumber without much of a fight. His body laid peacefully for many hours, spending most of the day asleep and recharging itself slowly. Darkness evolved into faint visions of color, colors into pictures, pictures into dreams.

The sun was growing dim in the horizon when he woke to the sound of a loud knocking on his door. Aside from the weakness of hunger, he was in much better shape when he woke, rising from the blankets he'd wrapped himself up in. He made his way for the door, acknowledging the fact that he'd left all his clothes on, far too tired to have bothered to take them off the night before. The Explorer's eyes scanned out the window, unable to estimate how long he'd been asleep judging by what he could see. He answered the door, moving his arms back and stretching with subtle movements. Not at all a surprise to him, The Hand of Noxus stood on the other side of his door, waiting quietly for him. Ezreal chewed gently on the inside of his lip for a moment before speaking.

"Hey, do you know what time it is?" The blonde asked, unable to come up with anything more than the moment's concern. The Noxian said nothing, merely looking behind the boy at a clock on the wall, as if to point it out to him without moving or speaking. Simple enough, he understood. "Right, there's a clock. Right behind me." He mumbled to himself as he turned. A sigh escaped him. "You're not taking me to him so he can kick my ass for sleeping in, are you?" Partially a joke, mostly a genuine worry.

"He would have come to you if he wanted you earlier." Darius stated, stepping back as the Piltovian left the blandness of his painfully empty room. Ezreal followed behind him with his shoulders slouched and his hands rubbing sleep from his eyes, pale yellow locks even more of a mess than usual. Appearances were important, it was shameful how little the boy cared for his. The subtleties of battle were lost on the young one; he didn't quite understand the art of visual intimidation, his carelessness of his image was evidence of such.

"Your brother said you were in Noxus yesterday." Ezreal said, for some reason seeking out small talk. He was supposed to hate Darius, sure, but he had his priorities. Draven was doing far worse to him, and was more of a threat. Darius, at least, seemed nearly reserved when it came to violence. Of course, there was the possibility that the Noxian was simply waiting for him to let his guard down - he would offer no such opportunity.

"I was." Darius answered, the Piltovian struggled to hear his words when the man spoke them in the opposite direction from him.

"What for? Really doubt it's any of your special 'second-in-command' business, considering how short the trip was." The blonde theorized, again swept up by his own rolling train of thought, "What do you even _do_ for Noxus? I mean, if Swain is running everything-"

"Watch your mouth." Darius cut in with a growl, "You will speak of him as the Grand General as long as you are in my presence." He stated; it wasn't a request, he was merely telling the boy the behavior he would adopt. Ezreal kept quiet for a moment, reminding himself what he intended to say before continuing.

"If the Grand General runs everything, what does he have you do? What are your orders?" The boy rephrased his question, the Noxian was contented by his corrected speech.

"None of your concern." The Noxian cut the conversation off, as expected.

"You're really not big on talking, are you?" Ezreal asked, as if disappointed by the man's unwillingness to converse with him.

"There's no point." Darius held the same, stony expression he always had. He acknowledged to himself that the boy was painfully needy, so desperate for companionship that he'd accept it from a man he could swear he hated. "You hate my people, you declare that proudly." He reminded as he stopped outside his brother's door.

"Well, I'm going to have to be around you for the next two months." The blonde said, "I'll have to get used to being around you, so I can't be making an enemy out of you." All he could hear was the man making a grunting noise, as he pushed the door open. Of course, it was a wasted effort to try to put himself in the Noxian's good graces, speaking to him was comparable to what he imagined would happen if he spoke to a wall. He followed the elder brother into the room, frowning at the sight of the Executioner, who sat upon a needlessly ornate chair with a bottle in hand.

"Sit down and start drinking." Draven smiled slightly as he took a drink from the bottle, outstretching his other arm to point out a half-filled glass of what he could only assume was the same liquid Draven drank down like water. It sat upon the same table he'd been under the night before, now cleared of the Noxian's papers and files.

"Uh, why? What _is_ that?" He questioned, feeling a hand on his back pushing him towards the table demandingly. His body complied; he knew he couldn't win a battle of brawn with Darius, it would be a joke to even try. The Piltovian stood, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to sit. Darius took a silent cue from his brother, his hands moved to the boy's shoulders and pushed down, taking a moment to fully realize how narrow the blonde's frame was.

"It'll get me drunk, and it's cheap enough to waste on you. That's all I care about." The Executioner answered. He crossed his legs as his brother approached, taking the bottle from him and swigging down a generous gulp, knowing he'd be better off if he was too drunk to pay attention to whatever would unfold from the night's circumstances.

"I'm not old enough to drink." Ezreal stated, sitting uncomfortably on his chair, his posture visibly stiff. A contemplative gaze was directed at the glass before him, silently reminding himself not to trust any supposed gestures of kindness from the Noxian, to trust the sickened sinking in his stomach that said he wasn't safe.

"Kid, I'm an executioner, not a damn police officer. I'm not going to arrest you." Draven reminded him, glancing over to his brother, who passed the bottle back to him. "And I _really_ doubt my bro cares what you do as long as you don't pull a knife on him."

"I need something stronger." Darius muttered to him, shaking his head. He watched as his brother headed for his liquor cabinet, helping himself to the contents. Pale blue eyes returned to watching the Piltovian, who sat still with his hands on the table.

"Come on, we're celebrating. Don't be rude." Draven urged him to drink; his insistence only served to make the blonde more suspicious, asking himself why it was so important that he drink with his captor.

"What is there to celebrate?" Ezreal spoke his question in a hiss, not bothering to hide his distaste. A moment was spent trying to discern the Noxian's intentions by deciphering his body language, a task quickly abandoned out of the sheer repulsion he felt simply by looking at the man.

"Well, there's always me. I'm a pretty good thing to celebrate." The man suggested, taking another drink from his bottle. Ezreal frowned, glaring down the glass in front of him, still refusing to drink. Draven swallowed quickly before sighing with exhaustion. "Darius, would you-"

"Alright, fine." Ezreal cut in, knowing it would be easier to do it himself than to have the Noxian brute forcing it down his throat. He picked up his glass and hesitated for only a moment. It would be easy, he'd get it over with quickly and shut Draven up for a minute. Raising the glass to his lips, he tilted his head back and did his best to ignore the foul taste in his mouth as he tossed the drink back, holding his breath as he swallowed. The Executioner made a sound, a low laugh expressing his amusement.

"That's almost impressive." Draven smirked at his hidden talent, "I can't even chug my drinks down like that." The blonde's face twisted into a grimace, his eyebrows held low, nose scrunched up in disgust from the burning of alcohol. He set his glass down forcefully on the table.

"This stuff is vile." He complained, his eyes squeezed shut as he swallowed again, wiping his mouth in an attempt to rid himself of the taste. The Executioner held in another laugh over how terribly the boy handled his drink. "How do you drink it down so casually? It's awful." Ezreal questioned, finding it hard to understand what people considered to be worthwhile about drinking.

"Well, maybe when you turn fifteen and can manage to take a hit without crying, you'll learn to appreciate the fine taste of liquor." Draven remarked teasingly, only causing the Piltovian to glare at him, unsurprisingly offended by his remark on the boy's age. "Sorry, I got that wrong. I meant to say 'when you turn_ fourteen_'. Is that better?" The Noxian questioned.

"You're kind of a total jerk, you know that, right?" Ezreal asked, more of a rhetorical question than anything. While the two bickered, Darius stood on the other side of the room, taking his pick from his brother's liquor cabinet. He had to be ready to subdue his brother if things took a turn for the worse, but he certainly held little desire to listen to the two argue.

"You know, this is going to come as a surprise to you, Blondie, but I'm really not the horrible person you expect me to be." Draven tried, perhaps a bit harder than he should have, to defend his name, "I'm not so bad. I can be nice if you'd let me, but you don't." He shifted the blame easily to the younger, placing him in the spot of the antagonist. "I'm trying to make this whole servant thing easier on you, but I can't do that when you make it a point to defy me and insult me every chance you get." Ezreal nearly felt bad for his behavior, but he reminded himself that he was only being played. He wouldn't allow the man to manipulate his emotions, he refused to take the bait. "I'm even trying to be nice to you right now, I brought you here to have a drink with me, not to fight." Draven pointed out, taking another drink from the bottle he held.

"Do you really expect me to trust you?" Ezreal asked with an accusatory tone. A warmth was blooming in his chest, sinking to his stomach as the liquor passed through him, only adding to the discomfort and sickness he felt from his empty stomach.

"Trust me? No, not at all. I know you have your irrational fear of Noxus. I'm not asking you to act like I've never done you wrong." Draven answered casually, recalling the fairly recent beatings he'd given.

"I wouldn't call it irrational." Ezreal remarked quickly, his stiff posture relaxing only slightly, only for a moment until he tensed up again.

"Maybe it's not really irrational to somebody who grew up safe in Piltover. I guess you have reason to be intimidated by us." The Executioner said, glancing over to his brother, who browsed a book shelf in the corner. "Listen, I'm just asking you to look past that for _one_ night. Look past who I am, where I'm from. Let's pretend we've only just met, we have no history of trying to kill each other for somebody else's entertainment." He suggested with ease; the Piltovian couldn't deny that it was an admirable thought, even if he wasn't fully willing to partake.

"Why would we do that?" Ezreal asked, frowning his unsureness. Draven seemed genuine, and part of him wanted to believe he was, but something always seemed wrong when the man tried to be kind, something unnervingly off about his tone. His words were pretty, but something about his presence betrayed him. Others surely fell for his sweet-talking, but he knew better than to become a victim.

"Let's be honest here. I'm really tired of screwing around trying to get you to behave." Draven was being entirely truthful for once, "And you and I both know you want to have fun and drink booze like a grown man." He stated his observation, something the boy couldn't deny. "We have an opportunity here, for me to get you warmed up to me, and for you to have your adult fun." He explained, as the blonde listened almost attentively. "I can't really force you to give me my chance, but if I don't try, all that potential goes to waste." He could see the boy rolling the thought around in his head, considering it deeply before he answered. "Anyway, if you want the rest of this, you have to let me know. It's the mildest stuff I have. Might as well drown your sorrows with something you can stomach." He concluded on a lighter note, as the Piltovian continued to think his decision over.

"Sorrows? What sorrows?" He asked, addressing the smaller point first. Draven smiled slightly at the question.

"I can come up with one." He stated with pride. "How about the sorrow you feel when you're away from m-"

"Just give me the bottle." Ezreal cut in, rolling his eyes at the man's remark, although he was a bit less hostile than before. Draven lifted his other hand, bending his fingers in a gesture that summoned him.

"Come get it." He called, watching with a smile as the Piltovian rose to his feet, walking over quickly and retrieving his prize, downing the rest of the bottle's contents in another impressive chug. "Honestly, _how the fuck_ do you manage that?" Draven questioned, in disbelief of the boy's newly discovered skill. "Nearly half the bottle and you drink it all down without stopping for air. That's talent or something." He stated, shaking his head.

"Want to know my secret?" Ezreal asked with a quiet tone. He paused for a quick moment before continuing, "The trick is to be so desperate that you want to get drunk as fast as possible." The boy gave a sly grin.

"Oh come on, I thought we were going to give this kindness thing a try." Draven said with a laugh. Ezreal paused for a moment, placing his hand on his own hip.

"You know what? Fine, I'll play along with you." Ezreal surrendered with a sigh. The boy stood before him for a moment, unsure of what to do. "So, how should we do this?" He questioned.

"Well, might help if you sit down instead of standing there awkwardly." Draven suggested, only causing his guest pause.

"Where should I sit, then?" Ezreal asked.

"There's the chair over there." Draven pointed out the one at the table quickly. "Or this one." He smiled slightly.

"You're already sitting there." The blonde stated the obvious, confused by the man suggesting that it was even an option. "How am I supposed to sit there if you are?"

"By getting on my lap and sharing." Draven shrugged his answer, humored as the room fell fully silent for a moment.

"I think I'll just bring the other chair over." The blonde mumbled, his face heating up with embarrassment. He quickly made his way across the floor, retrieving the chair and bringing it closer to the Noxian, who watched and waited patiently for him. Ezreal perched himself atop his seat, again assuming a stiff posture as he eyed the Executioner warily.

"What exactly are you so famous for back in Piltover, anyway?" Draven asked him, bringing it up in a spontaneous wondering. "Are you some rich guy's kid or what?" He asked, genuinely unsure of how the boy had ended up in the League.

"Um, honestly, yeah." Ezreal answered; it was true, his parents were both notable scholars back in Piltover, his mother had even held a seat on the state's governing council for several years. "Most people back home know me because of my work though. Well, actually, it's more like half..." He muttered, "Ok, so_ maybe_ everybody there knows me because of my parents." He admitted with a slight hint of shame. It was an insult to him, to work hard and only be recognized as whose son he was.

"He draws maps." Darius stated quite suddenly and loudly, looking up from the book he read to cut into their conversation, if only for a moment. Ezreal glanced over to the man, meeting his gaze briefly.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it." Ezreal confirmed, concerned for his declining capability for speech. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his words spoken less sharply. He was going off on more tangents than usual. The alcohol was beginning to affect his speech quite noticeably.

"So, the exploring stuff... Just taking a wild guess and assuming you travel a lot." Draven mentioned casually. "Don't you have any friends where you're from?" He asked with wonder. Again, the boy fell quiet.

"Not really. I only knew Jayce and Caitlyn because my parents introduced me." The blonde explained with a soft voice. "I met Taric and Lux here." He stated, "That's about it when it comes to friends." Draven stared at him quite intently for a moment before asking something of him.

"Come here." The Noxian beckoned him. For whatever reason, he found himself lifting from his seat, compelled by an instinct he couldn't contain. Again, he stood in front of the man, staring down at him with a look of wonder. He hadn't realized it until he stood, but his knees felt weak. His head was spinning. "Sit down." The man gestured to his leg. He didn't want to, and yet...

"What exactly do you want out of this?" Ezreal asked, fumbling on his words a little. They were close, it was dreadful, why was he listening to the man's orders?

"I can be your friend if you let me." The Noxian breathed the words against his neck, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. He felt a hand toying with his hair gently, in the way a master would treat his pet.

"I don't have many friends who treat me like this..." Ezreal mumbled, tensing up slightly with every hot breath he felt ghosting over his skin.

"Do you like it?" Draven questioned with a smooth voice, moving his free hand so it sat on the boy's hip. There was no doubt of it, he was getting far too friendly to be considered safe.

"No, it's making me really uncomfortable!" Ezreal admitted with slight panic, shifting nervously. He felt sick, and he knew it wasn't from the booze. "Can I go back to my chair? I feel really sick." He pleaded, too scared to be aggressive with his words.

"I have a secret to tell you." Draven grabbed him by his hair, pulling him closer, pressing his lips against the boy's neck. "You're really fucking stupid, kid." He growled, the change in his tone startling.

"Wh-what?" The blonde asked in a pathetic whimper, a sense of dread clouding his mind. He could feel a weight in his chest, his body quivering ever so slightly.

"You want to know why I wanted you to drink with me tonight?" Draven asked, holding him firmly as he struggled. "I had plans, and they don't involve being your new best friend." What little strength he had was put into fighting against the older man, who only seemed amused by his actions. "You were smart to try to get out of drinking with me, but you gave in so easily... Did you really think Darius was going to do anything at all to you?" He asked with cruel humor in his voice, "You walked right into this, the same way you always do. You didn't trust me, because_ occasionally_ you know what's best for you." He continued, "Apparently all it takes is to play a few nice guy cards and you'll climb on top of anybody." He remarked with a wicked grin.

"You tricked me." Ezreal muttered with a whine, as if surprised that the Noxian had betrayed the small trust he'd placed in him.

"Of course I did. I always will. Because you make it so damn easy." Draven stated, as the boy gave up on struggling. "I'll quit telling you where you went wrong, though." He said, feigning apology. "I got what I wanted out of you... And I'll tell you another secret." He said promisingly, his hand tightening on the Piltovian's hair, "I slipped something in your drink before you got here." He stated before releasing the boy, pushing him off of his lap and onto the floor, watching him land with a painful impact. Blue eyes widened with fear, staring up at him full of terrified resentment.

"What did you do to me?" He asked with pain.

"What I _did_ isn't what you need to worry about. You should be asking yourself what I'm _going_ to do to you." Draven laughed, the noise resounded in the room, haunting him within his head.

"Why?" The boy asked weakly, eyes shining with extra moisture. The Noxian waited a moment before he answered.

"Because you wanted to run your mouth." He answered simply. "And honestly, I'm not great at this whole 'forgive and forget' bullshit." He shrugged. "You should be under the full effect soon." The Executioner added. He sat by and watched as the boy muttered something unintelligible, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell back on the floor, slipping into the cold numbness of unconsciousness.

* * *

_I'd like to take a quick moment to apologize for ending every single chapter on a cliffhanger. I honestly am not entirely sure how to close out chapters in many other ways. I'm working on it._

Have fun waiting six years for an update.


	8. Willbound

_Look at who managed to update in a timely manner, it's me. My oh my, the new Champ reveal gave me ideas. Thanks, Jinx, you've given me sudden plot points. I don't have much to blab on about right now, just trust that I'm getting right back to work on writing once this is up. Chapter eight for everybody to enjoy, and a lot of Darius. I admit, half of it is a bit of filler, but it's better than not writing. So maybe this is a sign of me getting myself back onto a weekly-ish update schedule. Keep your fingers crossed on that one.  
**  
Chapter Eight:** Willbound_  
_**Word Count:** 6,400_  
_**Characters:** Darius, Draven, Ezreal, minor OCs_  
_**Pairings:** I suppose we could say slight tinges of Darius/OC if you interpret it that way but not really anything at all_  
_**Warnings:** Mild violence, not-so-mild language, physical... discomfort... Is it at all obvious by now that I'm just pulling random words out of my ass and slapping them in the warnings section?_

* * *

"Just get him out of here." Draven demanded, frustrated and exhausted. Darius crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl plastered on his face. The 'him' Draven referred to was the young Piltovian Champion, Ezreal, who had been beaten terribly and choked to unconsciousness mere moments before he'd arrived.

"He's your responsibility." Darius stated in a growl; he was going to take the boy out of the room regardless, but he wanted his brother to at least attempt to ask for it nicely before he fulfilled the request. There wasn't much he could do to keep Draven in line, but his efforts worked in their own way. Perhaps Draven wasn't very kind or very humble, but at least he hadn't delved fully into his narcissism - surely it would lead to madness if he did.

"I don't want to touch him..." Draven stated with a sigh. The younger brother had been genuinely angered, to the point of pure, uninhibited bloodlust. "Will you please just..." Darius nodded quietly, stepping towards the blonde. He looked down to the boy, noticing the way his fingers twitched with the slightest movement. Effortlessly, he scooped the limp body up in his arms, carrying the young one to the door. Looking down, he noticed a hint of blue from eyes that gazed up at him for a moment before falling shut again. He carelessly dropped the boy outside of the room before closing the door; he'd left it open earlier, having to react immediately to the situation he'd walked in on, crossing the room as quick as possible to force Draven away from the boy. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd arrived a minute later - would Draven have been satisfied with choking him out, or would he have killed the Piltovian in his rage?

"You could have killed him." Darius stated with a tone of scolding, more open to discussing the matter with the Explorer removed from the room. Draven glanced down at his hands, almost seeming ashamed of himself.

"I wasn't going to kill him." He stated, "I have plans for him, I need him alive." Draven explained, speaking in his own defense.

"_That's_ your concern?" Darius asked, disapproving, "Not the fact that you could be put on trial for his murder?" The younger Noxian frowned at his brother's words.

"I care about that, too. It's just more of a secondary concern to me." Draven admitted, the slightest bit less confident than usual. He could tell his brother was displeased with him, and he was undeniably regretful of his actions.

"Do _not_ let this happen again." Darius said as an order, his words toned with warning. Draven stood by silently, realizing his mistake.

"I won't." Draven complied in a quiet voice. He sighed, looking up to his brother with a look that seemed just barely apologetic. "I wouldn't have killed him. Really." He said, attempting to reassure the elder.

"What are your plans for him?" Darius questioned, not particularly concerned for any reason other than the deal he'd made with Jayce.

"Just some personal interests of mine. Having a maid would be nice." Draven answered, walking over to a chair that sat in the room, a proud green in color. He sat himself upon the chair, resting one foot on the opposite knee, leaning back into the cushioned seat casually.

"Don't take it further than necessary." Darius advised. The boy was useful for little more than the purpose of him keeping his word, as far as he was concerned. There was also the matter of keeping his brother in line, and making sure no political controversy rose from the entire ordeal. He was scarcely sentimental, but he did everything in his power to keep his word when he gave it.

"I was serious when I said you could borrow him." The younger brother stated, placing his hands on the arm rests of his chair. "If you needed him, you could always ask."

"What would I need him for?" The elder questioned, genuinely unsure of what use the Piltovian was to him as a servant. He listened as Draven chuckled, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion.

"That's up to you, isn't it?" Draven asked. "I mean, you'd figure something out if you had some brat there to follow your orders." He said casually, tapping his fingers on the armrests beneath them. "Maybe you want to watch him embarrass himself, maybe you feel like giving him a black eye." He suggested, "Maybe you get lonely at night and want him to blow you, I don't know." Darius held silence for a moment, not knowing how to respond to his brother's suggestions.

"Is that what you've done?" He asked, although he didn't particularly want the answer. It was a question he posed out of obligation.

"More or less, yeah. I've definitely punched him a few times." Draven admitted, understating the truth for once, "Probably made him feel like an idiot, too." He said casually, as if he was proud of it. "I can't really get much out of him right now, though. I need to ensure he's going to really follow orders instead of all this bitching and moaning he does now." Draven stated with a tone of intent. Darius waited, knowing his brother was going to ask something of him. "What I'm trying to say is, I need you to go to Noxus and get me something that'll make him more obedient." There it was, just as he'd expected.

"What did you have in mind?" Darius asked, needing more details. Perhaps he was reenforcing his brother's self-importance by catering to him. He could hardly be brought to care, doubting Draven would ever learn humility, finding it pointless to try to change him.

"A potion would probably work." The younger answered, adjusting his posture slightly. "I'm sure you know whose services I'd prefer." He stated, a wordless understanding between the two of them. Draven stood, crossing the room to fetch a small, empty bottle that once contained some kind of alcohol, from a counter. "So you're probably going to need my blood." Draven reminded himself, making his way towards his bedroom.

"Or hair." Darius reminded, "Or fingernail trimmings."

"Blood is more effective, isn't it?" Draven called from the other room, as he picked up a small knife from his bedside table. Without hesitation, he took the knife to his skin, pulling the blade across his open palm without startling from the pain. The incision was made a bit deeper than he'd intended, he held his hand over the bottle, letting the dark fluid pour in, his nose hit by the faint reeking of gore; horrid and metallic. He waited for the flow to thin out, watching the glass container fill until the blood came out in small drops. Carefully, he closed his hand, putting light pressure on the cut with his fingers, hoping he could keep it from leaking more. He picked up the bottle's lid and twisted it on, sealing it with his free hand. Darius waited patiently for him when he emerged from his bedroom, he handed off the bottle to his brother before making his way back towards the counter he'd taken the bottle from. He picked up a thin cloth and wrapped it around his hand quickly, not knowing and not caring of its cleanliness.

"When did you want me to go?" Darius asked, watching as his brother tended to himself. A few drops of blood had missed the opening of the bottle and spattered on the glass, staining it with streaks of red. He caught the scent of it briefly; it was nothing new to him after fighting in countless battles and taking plenty of lives. Something about how distinctly organic the smell was always managed to make him feel just barely ill, no matter how many times he experienced it.

"As soon as possible. I'm tired of arguing with this brat over every little order I give him." Draven sighed, looking down at his hand in the makeshift bandage he'd crafted. "I want to believe he'll get used to it on his own, but I really don't know. Kid's stubborn." Darius made his way for the door, perfectly capable of seeing himself out.

"I'll leave tonight." He stated, bowing his head slightly as he spoke.

"Really, that soon? You miss her, huh?" Draven asked, receiving no reaction from his brother. He continued, taking the elder's silence as permission to continue. "Well, I guess you can probably make it there by morning if you leave soon." In truth, Darius had simply learned that making conversation with Draven was easier when he let the younger do most of the talking. "I'll see you when you get back." Draven bid him off, he nodded his head in response before making his exit. The boy was no longer laying helpless in front of Draven's door - instead, he was laying helpless in front of somebody else's door, only a short way down the hall from where he'd been left.

A short walk later, he found himself in his room, gathering some of his belongings in a leather pack. He didn't intend for his visit to his home to be particularly lengthy, only desiring to finish his task and return to The Institute. Living in Noxus was stressful, requiring any residents to be constantly attentive or run the risk of becoming a target; even somebody possessing the intimidating stature and high social standing that Darius had wasn't safe from thieves and swindlers. He was perfectly capable of staying on guard, and he rarely ever let his guard down, but it was far easier on him to simply stay at The Institute and only visit the filth-laden streets of Noxus when it was necessary. He always had the option to live in the Noxian Citadel with the rest of the city's officials, but somehow he felt even less safe within those walls than he ever had on the streets - the lesser officers did not share his interests, caring more for their own gain than for the prosperity of their land.

He paused as he heard the faint but easily identified sound of footfalls upon the stone-floored halls of The Institute of War, steadily approaching. He doubted whoever it was wanted anything to do with him, but he kept himself ready for confrontation on the off chance that they did. Nearly surprised by it, he heard a loud, insistent knocking on his door. Quickly, he crossed the room, opening his door to meet Jayce, who stood before him with a look of impatience. He kept quiet throughout the encounter, allowing the chatty Piltovian plenty of time to speak. He responded sparsely and simply, wanting nothing more for the conversation to be over so he could continue what he had been occupied with. As he had expected, the man was concerned for his young friend, suspecting he wouldn't stay true to his word. The Defender even went so far as to offer him money to ensure the boy's safety. The offer was needless, eventually the brunet had managed to run out of words to waste on him.

When the other left, he returned to his activities, finishing up with his packing in a few minutes. He grabbed a simple linen cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders before he made his way out, leaving his room and heading down the hall. The halls were quiet as he passed through, given vision by magic-lit lamps, their peculiar glow dimmed so as to be less bothersome during the late hours of the night. Supposedly their light was more efficient because it could not be easily extinguished like fire, and didn't run the risk of bursting like an electric bulb. He did not take any large amount of interest in magic or devices powered by it, but acknowledged the use for such things. He soon found himself outside, at The Institute's transport station. The night sky was clear and cloudless, the stars easily seen, shining bright in the dark. A carriage driver nodded at him, he approached quietly.

"Noxus, right?" The man asked, recognizing him easily. He nodded his response, opening the carriage door and allowing himself in. Transports that went to Noxus were typically old horse-drawn cabs, any other type of vehicle tended to raise suspicion. He'd seen several more modern transports at the station; electric and oil-fueled, self-driven vehicles - most of them destined for Demacia or Piltover, he assumed. The carriage rolled out slowly, quickly gaining speed as it went down the road leading away from The Institute of War, turning off to the path that would lead them to Noxus. The bumping and rattling of the cabin was a familiar disturbance to him, one he was nearly comfortable with. He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and ignoring the rough road beneath him.

He was woken by a tapping on the carriage door, he sat up straight and looked out the window; they had arrived at the gates of Noxus, it appeared to be late morning. He stepped out of the carriage, taking a few coins out of a small pack at his side, handing them to his driver before bidding him off. A short interrogation at the gate went by in his favor, and he made his way into the city, passing through the sunlit streets with his destination in mind. Silently, the faces of the streets watched as he passed by. He was well known and highly respected in Noxus, he occasionally heard the whispered rumors of his feats, 'the man who slaughtered the monarchy', 'he killed his way up the ranks of the military'. Some things they said were true, others were mere stories he didn't care to deny. The more they feared him, the less they would bother him. In truth, being seen as some heartless monster was far from a compliment for him, but a bad reputation was far better than none.

The man continued, making his way through the streets of Noxus, finding his way deeper into the city, out of the slums and into the wealthier districts. The axeman found himself at the metal gate of a large, luxurious estate, he stated his name and business to the gatekeeper, allowed entrance quickly. He soon found himself in front of a grand wooden door, he knew the building well. A key was in his pocket, but he figured it would be more 'polite' to knock; after all, he was showing up unannounced, and the residents of Noxus did not take kindly to intruders. He was greeted by a woman, her red lips turned up into a smile.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again, my dear." She said with a tone of welcoming, leaning close and kissing him on the cheek. She looked to be only a few years older than him, her features beautiful yet vicious, slightly hawklike in structure. "What brings you here? Aren't you busy with your work?" She asked, out of personal interest, as she led him inside by the wrist. He wasn't overly fond of close contact, but he made an exception for her. They were close, that much could be told from how they interacted.

"Draven wants to commission your work." He stated outright, still finding it hard to be talkative with her despite their closeness. Her home was one he called his own, lavish decor and gruesome war trophies equally abundant in the rooms and halls, the walls painted with regal patterns in dark shades. There was a lovely grimness to her sense of home design, one he had always admired.

"And what exactly does your brother want?" She questioned gently, pressing him for more information. She led him up a curved flight of stairs, fixing her dark hair into a bun as she ascended.

"An obedience potion." Darius stated as he followed, careful not to step on the fabric of the dress she wore, so long that it trailed behind her when she walked.

"What could he ever need something like that for?" She asked with suspicion, shooting him a look of wonder. "Are you making me an accomplice to a crime?" At the least, her question seemed to be in jest.

"He has a mouthy servant." Darius answered truthfully, as he was led to her crafting room, tables set up for several kinds of work. Of particular note was her apothecary's table, well equipped for the work she was asked to do.

"You know how this works. I'll need something of his." She stated, as the Noxian General grasped his pack, opening it and retrieving the Executioner's blood. He handed the bottle to her quickly and wordlessly.

"What's your price?" He asked, knowing that help was not cheap in Noxus, even between close ones. She laughed quietly, shaking her head.

"Don't be ridiculous, my dear." She smiled, placing the bottle of blood aside, near her potion making supplies. "I would never charge you for my services." She turned to him again, "I can have it ready for you in an hour, after that it will need to be left alone to set for another twelve hours." She informed him, glancing down at her black nails. She looked up at him again with an eyebrow raised, knowing his thoughts with a single gaze. "Darius, I don't need your money and I would never ask for it." She assured him. "Now then, I don't have to begin making it right away unless this is urgent."

"Draven is far from patient." He reminded, still unsure of accepting her services for free. The axeman could only assume it was out of sentiment that she was so kind to him.

"You have a point. I'll get to work on it just as soon as I'm done sorting my materials out." She said with a sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple and rubbing gently. "You look tired, you should rest." She said, he took it as a cue to leave her in peace. She was a rather notable member of the Noxian population; a powerful witch, and an ally to the Grand General. There were age-old rumors that she was also aligned with some secret mage society, which was far from surprising. Noxus was a land full of people keeping secrets and hiding behind masks; admittedly, he wore his own disguise for the world. In the end, trying to determine the truth from the countless rumors was pointless, it was easier to simply believe nothing that was heard and trust nobody until their competence and loyalty could be either proven or revealed as a lie. An ugly approach to life to suit the ugliness of the city of liars and traitors.

The night came and passed, and soon he was leaving for The Institute of War again, taking with him the product of his lady's labors. He presented four bottles of a deep blue liquid to his brother, explaining their use and potency quickly. The blood sample had been enough for four doses, the effects of each lasting for a week. The color and viscosity took to any liquid it was added to, a convenient feature. He stood by and watched as his brother poured a glass of mild liquor, uncapping a dosage and pouring it in.

"Do me a favor and go get the brat." Draven requested with a smile.

* * *

Draven stared down at his servant, who laid still on the floor. A moment passed, and he wondered what had happened. He glanced over to his brother, who was absorbed in what he was reading. One moment, he had been cowering, the next he was out cold.

"Dar, you didn't mention any sudden fainting." The younger Noxian called, seeking out his brother's attention. The elder of the two peered up from the pages that had captured him.

"Neither did she." The General stated, always seeming to be listening, even when he appeared to be completely consumed by something else. "How much did he drink?" Darius asked in return, as if it might help him.

"About half the bottle." Draven answered with mild confusion, "I don't think it's alcohol poisoning, though." He frowned, trying to figure out what had caused his servant to fall unconscious.

"He can't hold his liquor." Darius suggested, looking back to the words on the page. "He's weak from starvation." He added, taking extra care not to damage the material as he turned the pages. Draven hummed in thought, considering his brother's words.

"It might be that. He doesn't really have much tolerance for anything, from what I've noticed." A smile twisted his lips upwards at the edges as he recalled his time with his servant. "I mean, he can barely take a beating without passing out." His smile quickly faded as his attention returned to the blonde's near lifeless figure. His displeasure came out as a sigh, the younger Noxian rose from his chair. "So, what am I supposed to do with him now? He's no good to me like this." The Executioner said with a tone of complaint, touching at the hair on his face out of a need to fidget.

"Not my problem." Darius answered with disinterest, pausing his reading to take a drink.

"I was asking because I thought you might help." Draven stated, crossing his arms over his chest, "Not as a signal so you can say something for the sake of being stubborn." Darius smirked at his brother's displeasure.

"I know." Darius said casually, only causing the younger to growl his frustration.

"Well, are you going to help or not?" Draven asked, nudging the blonde in the side with his foot.

"What do you want?" The elder questioned, reluctant but not entirely refusing. The Executioner hummed in thought for a moment, his eyes scanning the room quickly, piecing together an idea from what he could see.

"I'm gonna go get something from my room. Do me a favor and put him on that chair." He requested, as he turned on his heel and headed for his bedroom. Darius could manage no more than a sound of his exhaustion, pulling himself up onto his feet, abandoning his book and beverage to make his way towards his target, his feet dragging only slightly as he went. At the least, the boy could hardly be considered an effort to handle, his starvation only made it easier to move and manipulate him. With ease, he crouched down and lifted the limp figure, grasping the blonde by his sides. The number of times he had been required to make such close contact with the Piltovian was not one that pleased him.

"Must I _always_ be the one to carry him?" Darius questioned as his brother returned with a length of rope in his hands. He eyed his younger with slight confusion. "Why do you have rope in your room?"

"Just in case." Draven shrugged, "You know, if somebody breaks in or wants to fuck. Or both." He explained with ease, provoking a grunt of distaste from his brother. "And yeah, _you_ can carry him because you're the brawn of this operation of ours." For some reason, he allowed Draven to speak to him regularly in a manner that no other would ever be allowed without losing a limb. He could only hope his brother was simply teasing; he allowed Draven his precious spotlight and applause, but he was far from a mere mass of muscle, and he was reasonably sure that his brother knew it.

"Hold him still so I can tie him down." Draven requested, in a tone that almost made him sound polite. Out of the courtesy he felt was owed to what little family he had, he complied.

"What are your intentions?" Darius asked rather suddenly, reminded of his duties. He held the boy up against the chair while his brother worked with his rope, wrapping it with a style and speed that only came with practice.

"Uh, tie him up, see how well the potion works?" Draven clarified, wondering how his brother could have been unsure of what he had planned.

"In the future." Darius added, adjusting his grip, pushing the boy against the wooden back of his chair by his shoulders. The way his body slumped whichever way gravity pulled it was an annoyance, but far from an impediment.

"I just want some entertainment. And maybe a maid." The younger explained, as his hands moved fluidly, binding the Piltovian's wrists with several loops around before he secured his servant to the chair. "If this is about the legal shit, don't worry."

"You can't give him reason to try to get you locked away as a prisoner." Darius chastised, releasing the Piltovian from his grip and stepping back.

"Who do you think will believe him if he tells anybody?" Draven asked, far too careless for his own good, "I mean, we always have the option to stop him from seeking help." He shrugged.

"How?" The elder questioned, walking back to his book and drink.

"Making him hate himself too much to do anything about it." The Executioner suggested, as the other took a deep drink from his bottle.

"You can't just break people." Darius said with a weary voice. If nothing else, he tried to serve as a voice of reason for his brother. Perhaps it was selfish, but the thought of losing one of his only companions was not one he relished, and so he went out of his way to appease his brother and his desire for destruction.

"Are you sure? I'm not going to lie, it's really tempting." Draven asked teasingly. Along with his tendency to accommodate his brother, the two of them had a unique relationship. Where he refused to let others mock him, Draven was allowed a free pass at teasing. An otherwise uncontrollable narcissist could be subdued with a mere utterance telling him to stop, so long as it was from Darius.

"Don't risk it." Darius warned him against whatever he had in mind. Two terribly stubborn men - maybe it was in their blood - who agreed to bow down to each other. In the end, it was all sentimental softness, something he accepted because he knew no other way of life.

"What do you figure I should do until he wakes up?" Draven questioned, terribly bored with the boy. "He's no fun when he's passed out." He remarked with a frown, his hands on his hips.

"Wait." Darius suggested, picking up where he left off on his book. He could hear his brother groaning with annoyance, to which he could only smile.

Hours passed and the young one woke, eyelids lifting slowly, heavy with the weariness of sleep. The room was filled with a repetitive, metallic sound he couldn't quite recognize, making his head sting deeply and mercilessly every time it rang out to him. Something was wrong, his body ached from sleeping in a bad position. He was sitting upright on the wooden chair he had earlier acquainted himself with. As he tried to rise to his feet, he became painfully aware of a binding at his wrists, feeling a rough material rubbing against his skin. Blue eyes scanned the room, finding no trace of Draven; instead, he found the Executioner's brother, who sat by patiently, still awake and absorbed in sharpening a blade.

"Darius?" The blonde called out, drawing the Noxian's attention to him. The black-haired man paused in his actions, placing his knife and sharpening tool down upon a nearby counter. The stinging in his brain did not leave, but it lessened, to his slight relief.

"_General._" He corrected, his interest captured by the boy. There was no need to tell him that he'd been tied to his chair, the Piltovian either knew already, or would soon find out.

"Right, General. Could you untie me?" Ezreal requested with an oddly quiet voice, his throat feeling dry and sore. Normally the boy was loud and full of hotheaded arrogance, yet his pleading seemed gentle, almost humble.

"No." Darius answered - as hard as the boy tried not to provoke him, he still wouldn't comply. Strength and discipline were useless if he went weak for any pretty face that could bat their eyelashes at him. He turned towards his brother's bedroom door, taking his steps towards it.

"Wait,_ please_ don't bring him out here." Ezreal called, doing his best to keep calm. Waking up in his enemy's room tied to a chair was troubling at best. He held in a sigh of relief as the man stopped, turning to him; a reminder was written on the Noxian's face, warning him to choose his words wisely or be ignored. "I mean, I know you obviously have to, but..." He paused for only a moment, rushing himself to figure out what he wanted and how to say it, "I'm thirsty." He stated quickly.

"Alcohol does that." The Noxian said, a simple explanation. The boy wanted something more, he could tell. He waited.

"Will you get me a glass of water or something?" The Piltovian asked, a tone of desperation tinged his words. "My mouth feels dry." He muttered, as the Noxian took a breath. Needy child, he was, but he had no choice but to assist; he couldn't have the boy suffering from dehydration. The axeman turned himself around, passing through the room and fetching an abandoned glass off a table, making his way for his brother's bath chamber. The Explorer had no option but to wait quietly, staring off in the direction the Noxian had gone, a small relief finding him as the large figure returned, walking over to him in silence. Darius pressed the cold glass against the boy's chin, watching as the blonde dropped his lower lip. Carefully, he tilted the glass, the Piltovian drank it down with ease. Dark spots were spattered across the skin of the blonde's face, subtle enough in their shade that he hadn't noticed them until he had looked so intently at the Explorer's face. He pulled the glass away from the boy's mouth as it emptied, placing it down on the floor. A moment passed where he considered thanking the Noxian for his compliance, but he shook it off. Darius was the enemy, he reminded himself.

Soon he was met with the younger axe enthusiast, who stared at him with a look of smug satisfaction that he could only find obnoxious, insulting. Of course, the sadistic Noxian derived some sick pleasure from seeing him tied up, helpless and vulnerable to whatever torment he had planned. His distaste could only be expressed by sending spiteful glares towards the man from where he sat.

"Good morning, sunshine." Draven said lazily from where he stood. "You don't look too happy to see me." He remarked with mock disappointment, beginning to pace about.

"That's because I'm not." Ezreal stated with a hiss. "And it's not even morning." He corrected, making his frustration painfully obvious. "Are you too good to look out your window now?" The Piltovian asked.

"Wow, you sure are rude for a kid who's tied up and ready to get kicked in the face." Draven remarked, adding on a chuckle at the end.

"What did you do to me?" The Piltovian demanded an answer, only causing the Executioner to burst into a full laugh.

"Hey, you know how we made that bet and I won? Yeah, here's the thing about that. You answer to _me_ now. I don't have to tell you shit." Draven explained, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his pants. The Piltovian fell silent, suddenly meek as he realized the truth to the man's words. "Stand up." The Noxian said suddenly, causing the Explorer confusion.

"I can't. You tied me up." Ezreal answered, a warmth tingling in his chest. He tapped his foot on the floor, trying to stave off the irritation. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other Noxian as he crossed the room. Draven stared at him with a steady gaze.

"Get off of that chair. Now." He demanded with a stern voice. The blonde shifted unconsciously, the warmth in his chest lighting up, growing more intense. The rope at his wrists rubbed against his skin as he struggled against his restraints, finding himself compelled to at least attempt to follow his orders. His efforts were wasted, he was still firmly on his chair, there was a distinct burning pain in his chest, spreading to his stomach, arms, and neck. A whimper of pain escaped him as he jerked his arm in a useless attempt to free himself.

"What did you do to me?!" He cried out, panic sweeping over him as his pain intensified. The rope had rubbed off some of the skin on his arms, red and raw; he hardly noticed, being plagued by the ever-spreading and intensifying sensation that lit his blood aflame from the inside. "M-make it stop!" The blonde groaned loudly, the feet of his chair rattling against the floor as he fought harder against the rope that bound him.

"Enough." He faintly recognized the voice of Darius, no doubt calling out to his brother, who merely watched. Tears stung at his eyes, a thousand unseen needles pricked into his skin. "Relieve him." The elder brother ordered with a calm voice, as if unfazed by the sound of hysterical sobbing that filled the room.

"Come on, you know he has no pain tolerance. He'll be fine for another minute." Draven shrugged, ignoring his brother's orders. Darius let out a growl, making his way for the boy and taking the glass off the floor, shattering it into pieces.

"You're going to kill him!" Darius let out his frustration in a near yell, taking a large shard of glass and moving quickly, ignoring the cutting into his skin as he cut away the Piltovian's restraints. The blonde collapsed in a heap on the floor, having nearly thrown himself from his chair. A sharp gasp taken into his lungs, he breathed in deep, shaky breaths. He'd hit his head as he landed, but the pain of a small bump was nothing like the burning he'd felt under his skin mere moments before.

"Fine, ruin my fun." Draven said with a sigh, much to his brother's annoyance. "You're lucky for two reasons, Blondie." The Executioner began, "One; that rope was thin enough to cut quickly." He listed off, "And two; I only wanted to test out my fancy new obedience potion." He concluded, as the young one laid quietly on the floor, his pain still present but quickly draining. "Be back here tomorrow at ten." He called out, turning towards his room without any form of a farewell. Darius reached out, grasping the boy firmly by his wrist and lifting him to his feet, pulling him towards the door before releasing him, escorting him out into the hall.

"To your room." The Noxian directed, standing and waiting for the Piltovian to take his leave. The boy glanced down at his forearm, a red stain making a striking contrast against the color of his skin. He swallowed with difficulty, sickened by the sight of blood, stumbling slightly in his steps, his knees weak. Darius sighed with a slight growl, taking him by the arm once more and half-supporting his weight.

"What are you doing?" Ezreal questioned, as the man took him down the hall. The Noxian held his speech, neglecting to answer the boy's curiosity. If he couldn't figure out the answer himself, he didn't deserve to know. The Piltovian was tense from the close contact, but tolerated it, perhaps more than he ever tolerated being close to Draven. The two stopped outside the young one's door, and the blonde took a moment to voice his observation, "Dari- uh, General." He caught his mistake quickly, "You're bleeding." He stated, glancing down at his arm again.

"And?" The Noxian questioned, as if his injury was hardly any more serious than a paper cut. He recalled the fact that the man had undoubtedly seen his fair share of battle; a mere cut meant nothing to a war general who certainly had more scars than the one on his face.

"I can..." He hesitated to make the offer. "Let me fix it." Ezreal requested. It might have been inappropriate, but the Noxian wouldn't have sustained the injury if not for him. Brown eyes stared down at him with a cold gaze for a moment, before the Noxian offered his hand with slight reluctance, revealing a still leaking wound.

"Why heal me?" Darius asked lowly as he watched the Piltovian work, summoning an arcane energy to repair his injured hand.

"You only got hurt because you cut me free." Ezreal answered, struggling with his breath as he spent what little magical energy was still within him. "I owe you this, I guess." He heard the man let out a scoff, causing him to look up with a frown. "Did I say something amusing?" He questioned.

"Sentiment." Darius stated, as if disappointed. Silently, the Piltovian wondered what was so wrong with having a sense of loyalty. He could only assume it was a form of weakness in the face of his ideals of 'true strength'. The blonde removed his hands from their position, having finished his task.

"There, I'm done." He said with relief, as he took his key from his pocket, unlocking his door. "I guess I should probably be grateful after what you did. I mean, I don't even know what would have happened if you hadn't helped me." He went on, "So, thank you." He turned, only to find himself alone. "Or not." He muttered to himself, turning and retreating into the safety of his room.

* * *

_Alright so, I apologize if the time jump threw anybody off, but I wanted to have some Darius. I'll try not to skip all around the timeline in some weird sporadic fashion and do my best to just take things as they go._


End file.
